• Maybe you’re thinking of me, wherever you are. Does it matter? I guess it doesn’t. You might not even be alive. But I like to imagine, sometimes, that you think of me.
    You were gone without warning. One day you just didn’t come home. Did you leave me? Were you hurt? I don’t know. I probably never will.
    But they found your car crashed, without you in it. They still say you’re probably dead. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking.
    Maybe you’re out there, somewhere. Thinking of me. Thinking of us. Thinking of a way to return. And maybe then, I can be happy again.