Little sweetheart, I've been so sad all day. I have days like this when I really can't do anything, can barely move, and only want to go back to bed and stay there and hope to dream of you and that you will take me. Before I finally brought the day to its sad close tonight, I wrote these words down. They came to me in a way that I often feel things do - as a little encouragement from you, at the remove you cannot fully traverse but do your best to reach me by thought, by dream, by signs, by portents, by events too full of resonance to be simply coincidental. You do your best, I know, my little sweetheart, to comfort me and give me faith. And these words came to me. I know you meant me to write and embrace them and to sleep knowing you are with me as near as heaven just now may allow:
"...You do have things to do yet with your life before you die. And I know you have a lot of bad days, and this was one of them, when you just wish it could be over. When you're so desperately alone and ache for your girl. But there are things to do. Just a few more of them. Not for recognition or material gain but simply because they're inside you and true and must be set down regardless of who finds or heeds them. There's a purity in it because it's not about anything but her and the love that made life, at least for some small time, for a handful of years, a joy and worth living. You do have things to do. Do them in these next 8 months that remain of this year. And have faith. Have faith in God and your sweetheart. As ever: for Summer..."