I wrote you a letter that never made it into the mailbox, words that told of my feelings and their wandering nature. Funny, how an envelope can travel across the globe delivering mundane sensations of contempt or uselessness, and yet I can sit here contemplating how there was no return address on my heart. When I left it, I didn’t need a carrier pigeon or a man going door to door, I handed it over freely from my palm to yours. We were one, in one place living different lives with different versions of each other standing side by side, but then I left. As much as I’d hoped to start anew and dive into the deep sea of opportunity that awaited a new born individual such as myself, I hit concrete thousands of miles down. There was no sound when I landed, just a stack of my own mail filled with debts and wishes that it’d get better soon. Now that months and months have passed, I can stand on my own, genuinely admiring where I’ve landed, but behind me looms that cliff. No matter how far forward I march, I can still see it as clear as day, the path of least resistance toward a sure surface as flat as the Earth once was. So, after staring up towards the edge where we once stood, I decided to tell you how I miss you and I sat on my concrete floor to write you my letter. It began with “dear” and finished with “love,” sentiments that I was sure wouldn’t be lost to your finely-tuned ears. You would understand how much I miss being on the top of that cliff with you, in harmony, hands clasped tightly around each other. I never sent that letter though, for I was sure you’d simply let go and watch it flutter to the place my body crashed so long ago.