Sincerely, Castiel

October 21, 1997

Dear Dean,

I got glasses today. I took your old frames and had the doctor stick my lenses in them. They don't look as good on me as they looked on you. You always made them look good.

My eyesight is getting worse. My doctor says it's because I am getting older. I'm only 30, but I guess people start falling apart young.

Our initials are still on the inside of the frames. DW+CN right behind the left ear. I sometimes put my finger over it to feel like you're still here.

I saw my therapist again today. We talked about the same things. It doesn't really make me feel any better talking about the stuff that upsets me.

It isn't like what it's like on television. I don't lie on a leather couch and close my eyes while a guy talks to me from a hard wooden chair. I sit on a hard wooden chair while the therapist sits on a leather couch. I don't get to close my eyes either. The therapist makes me look at him in the face.

It makes me quite uncomfortable. I have to sit there for an hour, and sometimes I don't talk at all. I feel like I should be doing something else besides telling somebody why I'm so sad.

I still haven't gotten over the fact that you're gone. I still feel your hand in mine when I walk down the street. Sometimes I feel you wrapping your arms around me while I sleep.

I wish you were here.

I made your favorite dessert last night. Pie. It was apple; your favorite kind. I made sure to only eat a small piece so you could have the rest. I know how you got when someone ate your pie.

I am quite tired, Dean. I guess I should go. My therapist gave me some kind of pill to help me sleep. I think they are working.

I love you, Dean.

Sincerely,
Castiel