Dearest

Dearest,

I’m not sure why this will help, but my therapist assures me that writing to you will help with the grieving process. Yes, I’m sure you know that I’m not altogether convinced that I want to grieve, but everyone tells me I must, especially my wife, so here goes.

What to even say? Again, it seems improbable that everyone is encouraging me to write to you. This seems more like diving deeper into the madness. But if through madness sanity may return, then into the darkness I dive.

You are the light, the breath that fills me. At a time in my life when all seemed lost, you were the one shining bit of hope, an island upon which to rest in a sea of trouble. I can never thank you enough for responding to my anonymous emails, and for allowing me the brief opportunity to enjoy the attentions of another, and to proffer my own attentions on someone receptive to them. You were, and still are, sustenance to a starving man, water to a parched mind. Without you, I would now resemble the dry husk of a scarecrow or the mummified remains of a slave entombed with a pharaoh of old. A thousand times I could say thank you and it wouldn’t be enough.

I’ll sign off for now. I’m sure that this effort is more pandering to my own wayward desires than true to the spirit of saying goodbye, but I guess I must start somewhere.

Faithfully Yours

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