How is your hand?
That is the question I’ve been meaning to ask, among all other questions that I couldn't ask you. It’s been an old impulse, the desire to reach out to you and ask about your day, your life, your everything. But I couldn't, and I shouldn't, especially after everything, especially when you keep telling me to stop bothering you, especially when I'm still choosing to stay here. Last night I had a nightmare. The ring couldn't protect me anymore, and it scares me a bit. I miss your hand on my ear. I miss your hug in the middle of the night. I miss you. Reach out to me whenever you can. I hope we can talk before it’s too late. I hope you can read this. I hope for you.