M. A little Pookie bird has been singing in my ear about you. I'm sorry that I can't send out any inspirational lines of bad poetry right now, because I'm not in the best of health. You know I'm not one to believe in empty platitudes, so I'll save you the bullshit. You know I love you, Princess, whatever that means for fucked-up people like us. If you're thinking of flying away, I can't jump up to catch you, but you'll be carrying a part of me with you if you do. I can't tell you that coming back here would somehow make anything better, either. The things that are broken in you and me are beyond the help of doctors and drugs anyway. I can only say that I miss your bright eyes. Please don't make someone else tell me that I'll never see them again.