So I started my letter. My goodbye letter. It’s three sentences long. Someone please shoot me.
I want to try my hand again at some fiction and this time, actually complete it. I may not be good, but at least I want to try. Does that mean anything to you?
I’m also writing to you. That counts, I think.
All this will get work on my trip up north. One has ample time to think when one is all alone with nothing but snow for company.