I miss writing letters. I miss writing page after page of nothing but my thoughts, of things that I find interesting, of things that I just can't wait to tell you. It's about taking the time and writing by pen, carefully, planning out each and every sentence before committing it to lines on a page.
I don’t quite know what to say anymore; I don't really know where to start. I know I could write to him or her or you and I know they would want to read what I write but I don’t know.
"I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and still trying to figure out how this could be."
Please don't worry.
And maybe I just have to convince myself that it is okay that I don’t know, that we don't know. It's okay, I’m okay; we are all okay.
And even if we're not, we will be soon enough.