“And when I asked you how you’d been, I meant I missed you more than I’ve ever missed anything before.”

“I keep thinking you already know. I keep thinking I’ve sent you letters that were only ever written in my mind.”

“I have a list in my head of all the feelings I still want to feel before I die. And you have ticked so many things off that list.”

“If nothing else, one day you can look someone straight in the eyes and say “But I lived through it. And it made me who I am today.”

“Sometimes I touch the things you used to touch, looking for echoes of your fingers.”

“The conversation between your fingers and someone else’s skin. This is the most important discussion you can ever have.”

“Yet you still value the things you’ve lost the most. Because the things you’ve lost are still perfect in your head. They never rusted. They never broke. They are made of the memories you once had, which only grow rosier and brighter, day by day. They are made of the dreams of how wonderful things could have been and must never suffer the indignity of actually still existing. Of being real. Of having flaws. Of breaking and deteriorating. Only the things you no longer have will always be perfect.”