June 1 1991
My Dearest Sam,
I love you. Just wanted to let you know that. And that it’d be nice if you tell me you love me too every once in a while. Not like a robot or because I’d said it first. But because you want to and because you mean it.
And that’s another thing: a lot of the time I feel like you don’t want me. Like you’re bored. Or tired. Or both. And even though I know how you hold all your emotions in and put on the stoic face irrespective of whether its summer or winter, the knowledge is no comfort when I go to sleep at night with you only arm’s length away but still thousand miles apart.
Maybe you’ll see this someday. Maybe you won’t. Irrespective I’d just like to say I love you.
December 13 1992
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