I could write a million letters, each one the same as the last in sentiment and cadence. They stay the same, only the word arrangement changes. It boils down to one thing, I miss you. You should be here. Ultimately, no one knows if that is selfish or not and even if it is, to hell with the rest of the world and their opinions. You should be here. I miss you. Your pretty eyes, beautiful smile, wily heart, torn mind, and kind, tortured soul. My heart is missing an integral piece, a part that keeps it from working correctly. When will I let go?