Thank you for being with me in the worst times, the good times, and each and every treasured moments.
Things are going pretty well lately. I've sent you some flowers; I hope you'll receive them. I had sprayed then with your favorite pink perfume you always put on. Oh, I miss how you smell horribly every morning with that perfume. I also miss how you kept on telling me that it's expensive and therefore must be appreciated. I miss how you kiss my cheeks before leaving the house. I miss how you hold my hands and how you pinch them slightly in a random time. But most of all, I miss you. I miss you, so, so much.
I don't even know why I'm still writing you these letters. I know you'll never read them, even if you will receive them. But I know you'll always feel how I feel — both love and sadness piled into a huge heap of mess. And I'm dragging that mess.
Maybe I'm still writing to you because I've gone crazy. Not the way I had gone crazy for you, but crazy "crazy". Or maybe, I kept on writing because it's the only thing that would be kept alive long enough to be read by anyone we know or don't. Because people die, and their love will soon end when time comes. But the love that is preserves through mediums will not, and will always be remembered by the people who'll know that love.
I miss you terribly. Next week's your death anniversary, but I can't visit you this time. Maybe some other time. I'll just send tons of messages instead.
Wherever you are, always remember that I will always love you.
From,
Me.