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.