December 20th, 1999

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December 20th, 1999

Jack,

It has been a year. A year away from your touches, your laughter, your kisses. A year away from everything that I loved so dearly since you disappeared. I try not to think about where you are, what you're doing, if you're alive. I know it's ridiculous, and I know I should move on with my life, but it's hard when you completely left before my eyes.

I send these letters to your old house in hopes of you seeing them, but I still don't understand why you left. Was it to get away from me? From us? From our future? That's not the Jack I knew. You wanted a family, a wife, and everything in between. You wanted the cliché white picket fenced home, that we would paint together and snuggle in at night. You wanted the original two children and a dog set up, so you would always have someone to love when I was away. But now you are the one away, and I am left with nothing to love but the memories we shared.

However, those memories are starting to fade, which is a sure sign you have been gone too long and we need to make new ones. So in my last letter to you, before I will try to move on with my life and find someone new... I want to request one final thing. To make one last memory with you. Whether that be over phone, mail, or touch. And though I will never know if you are reading this or not, I will hope and pray that it somehow gets to you.

Wherever you are.

Love, Charlotte






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