I thought that when I got to this point in this letter, I’d understand something. I’d realise why this has all happened, why you came into my life . . . why you chose me. Sometimes I think you’re still just as messed up as that first day I met you in the park. And sometimes I think about your plan of living out there in the heat and the endlessness and the beauty, and whether it would have worked. Mostly I don’t know what to think.
