Dearest Ana,

I’ve been ashamed to write to you these past weeks, and with good reason. I don’t know anymore how much people have told you, and how much of it is true. What I do know is that I still wish to see you, if even just one last time. It’s been many nights I’ve been thinking about you, and how quickly things changed, and how stubborn I was to not heed those signs. As if only yesterday we were sitting on the same table and JL was raising a toast to promising days ahead of us. To think, it’s been about a year.

I witnessed a man have his watch slashed off his wrist tonight. Whatever we’ve heard about the projects – I saw firsthand. You would ask me what I was doing commuting through that place past midnight. Or maybe not. What I did remember was not the fear, but rather the thought that I would be writing this story to you when I got home. And here I am. And I hope you are taking good care of yourself.

I’m terribly sorry for what happened with your friend. I’m sure, I have always wanted to be with her. And that I was too proud to admit it. I think that’s mostly why she hates me so much (but you would know for sure, of course). I guess, even though I wanted her, I knew I could never be anything more than a face she could be herself around. But I could have been so irrevocably wrong.

How’s the firm? I heard you’ve been given your own special division to take care of the things regular operation can miss. I only hope that you are with people who are as mature as yourself, and are treating you with the respect they never showed me. I’ll be visiting around lunch time on the 22nd, in case you would (or wouldn’t) wanna be around when I am.

Best wishes for you. And as always, I’ll still be waiting for the day you’d write me back.

 

Yours unconditionally,

Duke

 

PS. I been working on the script for that miniseries I told you about last September.