Rikard Colby had started the letter several times now, ruining more than a few pieces of paper. It would have been easier, at this rate, to simply write an email; closing out a window by clicking a simple 'x' in the corner as opposed to wasting bits of what had once been a tree. He could have sent a text. He could have done any number of things, really, but in the end when there were thoughts that he needed to get out of his head he always came back to paper and a pen.
At one point I wrote asking what you would do if I told you about my secret life. I am sitting here wondering that again. This time it is another you, though. Honestly, this time it even feels like a different me.
I will let you in on a little secret. Just between us? I am not that good at this. I was promoted. I am a Captain now, but I have no command. There isn't anyone who reports to me, at least not that I am aware of. I might as well have abandoned my post. Oh, I still siphon energy here and there. I connect with others and gather intel, but I couldn't actually tell you the last time I checked in through something other than the system I use to file reports.
I talked to a cat the other night. A cat. Did you know they could talk? Some of them can, at least.
It doesn't make sense.
None of this makes sense.
I miss you. That summer we spent together was incredible. I didn't want it to end and a part of me still feels betrayed that it did, but we each did what we had to do. It doesn't change that I miss the sound of your voice; that I've thought of picking up my phone and calling you just to see if you're alright. Have you been staying out of trouble? Have you met someone else? Have you replaced me?
Rikard cursed at himself as he crumpled that piece of paper as well, this time sinking the ball into the trash without thinking about it. He then wheeled out of his chair, rising to his feet only to kick his chair back under his desk with a frustrated huff. He ran his hands back through his hair, grasping at his locks as he took a deep breath before letting go.
"******** it." He snatched his communication crystal and his keys, tucking them both into his pocket before slipping out of his flat. He had to blow some steam somehow and maybe he could get back to writing then. Maybe he could make sense of things. Maybe...
Maybe he'd find answers. Maybe he'd find himself.
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