april, 2026.

another year went by without making contact.

i found out about your baby through someone i am no longer friends with. my social circle got bigger by the seasons, yet my inner circle shrunk until it is the size of my hands.

i haven't seen the pictures, but i think he has your smile.

every morning i take the road we used to walk to school. the same distance, the same buildings, the same green iron gate our backs once rested, the same misty wind our noses once tickled under.

and my thoughts drifted somewhere else.

i wonder if "missing" is the correct word to use on you. had i used "yearning", "longing" or even "aching", the tone and meaning would be terribly misunderstood.

i'm not even sure if it's miss, or remember.

my boyfriend asks me why am i still writing to you after all these years. i said it was good melancholy.

a writer never misses a chance to ache.

as i am typing out these empty, decorative words, the corner of my eyes keep shifting to the guy on my left, landing on his fingers, lips, the bridge of his nose, that wrinkled corner of his eyes.

and i forgot why am i even talking to you.

best of luck with whatever that's going on. this will be my final letter.

thank you for the dragged out melancholia of my early adulthood.

goodbye.