Dear Amelia,
What you will never know. Or maybe I will tell you in June. Dear Amelia, I write love letters in the twilight of my consciousness to you every night in bed before I try to my hardest to sleep. I can't control this. I do it super consciously. They aren't poetry. They aren't exceptional prose. They may not be worth hearing. They may not be worth saying. In the end, know that I miss you. Your thought of your presence graces me with the feeling of halcyon days long past. Forever tucked between the arteries of my heart is a deep passionate love. I promise I can never recant what I said right here.
Love, Homer
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