Do you remember when we use to talk? Don’t you miss it sometimes, I know I do. It wasn’t until I felt the loss of you I understood what it meant to feel true sorrow. The bullet wound of your absence has healed, there will forever remain a scar of your presence. The majority of your lingering scent hovers over my halo when I look in the mirror every morning. Was this a plan greater than I, or is it just some fucked up reality which explains this chapter of my life? I’m not quite sure, either way I’ll welcome it as I move onto another square as I place myself into the “strategic winning class”. I only wish I could share this with you. It’s probably for the best this is just it. Either way, this will be one of the last letters I write to you. I’m flying over the great state of California heading to Seattle for another stint of work and possible contractions of more work. I’m also flying high because yesterday, a great artist who I’ve been following for years now, emailed me and wished me the best. For some reason the unknown presence of the meaning behind his words clarified my future without him actually saying those words. It’s a sunny early morning in the sky, and the stuartess is about to bring me some apple juice, you know about my apple juice retual when I fly. I usually write when I fly, but this time I was so on top of the world I had to let you known. I’ll always love you. But it’s onto another experience. I’m ready for someone else. It feels good to write those words. I’ll be seeing someone, while I’m in Seattle, who I’ve been talking to for a couple weeks now. She’s like no one I’ve ever met before and I’m looking forward to it. But yet again, here’s to you and what we had, I’ll never forget you.