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Hi.

Of course, it is a normal piece of paper. Can’t do anything too fancy (maybe later). I don’t know if I’ve ever written you a letter. Maybe today I have missed you the most, maybe it was enough for me to sit and write. Missing you like I would miss a fresh splash of water on a sunny day, missing you like I would miss the cool breeze of air that makes a night walk perfect. Sorry, but when I write letters they ought to be romantic. I don’t think letters are letters without their romance. I just realized that July is such a weird month. What even happens in July? It’s right in the middle. No one remembers what happens in July. I am happy that I gave something (this letter) for you to remember (and for me too) this July of 2021. It makes me feel bitter how difficult it is to write about someone else, even if you’ve known them for years, even if they’ve lived in your dreams and thoughts for a significant amount of time. How can we be so consumed with ourselves and everything around us that we give others no power to even be remembered deservedly? Anyway, turns out exercising does release a lot of the oh-so-fucking-good hormones. I wish I can make everyone exercise. Is it boring to read about someone else’s thoughts in a letter addressed to you? I would have hated it. On that note, I really do miss you today. I think I am feeling really grateful for someone like you to be a part of my life. It is like having a bench only to ourselves in the middle of an apocalypse. Buildings are burning, there is no hope for tomorrow, people are killing each other, there is a stench of malice in the air- but somehow, none of this reaches our little bench. It’s just you and me smoking a nicotine-free cigarette and laughing at existential jokes- mostly made by you, you’re good at that. Well, I guess what I mean to say is, I love you.