You know when you know someone for a long time, & then you lose touch with them? & You see them again later. & It's like they're not the same person. Not because they're different from how you remember them. Not because their hair might've been red before, & now it's black. Not because they grew three inches or lost ten pounds. But because they're just an empty ghost of themselves. Everything you loved about them before - their sarcastic laugh, their sad gaze, their scraped-up kneecaps -they're gone. But it goes deeper than that. They are gone. Please send me your letters with a pound of postage stamped on the pocket. I have written you but one, still I feel it will inflict enough tears too beautiful to cry. I have written secret words yet still neglected to confess to the shape of your lips. I have shaken but still fear your thoughts of the permanence of my envelope. You are two years gone.