I was thinking about shells today. I saw a woman with a shirt that had them, and I remembered the beach, and you, and this box. I went back and read through all the letters, and for the first time, in a long time, I wasn’t sad about it – not in the same way. I’ve been so tired lately. I’m so tired of being angry, and sad, because that wasn’t the point. I’m sad because I’ll never get to tell you certain things again. I’m sad about that, but I’m not sad like I was when you left. I think I held onto that too long. I confused it with loving you, and those aren’t the same. Being sad about the things I miss isn’t loving you. It never was. Loving you was so much bigger than that. . I don’t think I can stop loving you. I think it’s a part of me now, and it’s never leaving. It makes me who I am, and I used to think this crippled me, but I don’t think it does anymore. Loving you has given you back to me. I’ve missed you. The old you. You never really came home, and I understand that now, and I know it wasn’t your fault or mine or anyone’s. It was just circumstances we couldn’t avoid, but I’ve realized that just because we ended the way we did doesn’t define what we were before. To have those memories back is such a precious thing. To have that part of you back with me – it’s unimaginable. I was thinking about shells, and I was thinking about that day at the beach and I can remember sitting on the blanket looking at the water, and you asked me what I was thinking. I was thinking about how afraid I was that I was never going to love you as much as I did then. That the moment was going to get washed out, that I would never be able to experience what it was like to know that I loved you as much as I did again… Cas’ words seemed to drop off the page before starting again. I’m sorry that things didn’t work out the way we wanted them to. I’m sorry – I’m sorry we weren’t as equipped to deal with the hand we got. The fact that we didn’t get to do the little plans hurts more than the big ones, sometimes. It wouldn’t have mattered about a house or the island. Sometimes I stop myself at work and realize I’m never going to sit in Van’s noodle house with you, and I don’t know exactly – I’m so terrible at letters, Dean. I’m glad you never had to read them when you were in Vietnam, they were all so terrible and boring and wordy. I think – I think that, the point of it all, is that the moment at the beach? I had never really understood who I was until then. That’s who I am. That person, and there, right there, next to me, that was you. That’s who you are. It’s so wonderful to know that I didn’t lose you. That we were always right where we were supposed to be the whole time. This whole time I thought I’d lost you, and there you were… Memories are good that way. I can remember us, and I can keep living. I can keep going and always know right where to find you when I miss you. I miss you all the time. I want you to realize this someday. All of that about us. You don’t – you don’t have to be guilty, and I know you are, and I understand why everything happened the way it did. It just happened. We just – it just happened, Dean, and it’s alright. I’m alright. I’ll be okay. Once, you told me it didn’t seem right to say goodbye. Not really. I thought I’d have to – I thought I’d have to let go of everything I loved about you, but I don’t, and you were right, and wouldn’t you be pleased with yourself to know. The truth of it has never been clearer to me, my darling. And you are, always, my darling. Yours, Cas