I do not know why I continue to write these. I am not even saying a whole lot in most of them and yet each day, I take up my quill and write a letter to you. It isn't like you will ever read them. Even so, it gives me the feeling of speaking to you which feels nice. The thought of never speaking with you again, in the way we used to, fills me with an indescribable ache.

Do you feel that way too?