Dear Noah,
I am still comtemplating whether or not I should write you. The truth is that it might do us more damage than it's worth. Like your dad always told me: You shouldn't pick the on a healing wound. You're dad's doing good by the way. It's been a while since I've seen him but he seems alright. A lot has changed since you left, I'm not gonna lie. I'd say that nothing has been the same, but that counts for everything right? Even if you stayed. After that night, things could never go back to what they were. I feel stupid for it taking me so long to figure it out. But every now and then I'm suddenly hit by a memory and something comes back. The smell of wet wood after the rainstorm. The warmth of the fire we made. The shape of your eyes when you got angry. The taste of soap. Stinging in a healing wound. Things haven't been the same. I still really hope you'll come back. I know that's silly. But I hope that you found what you were looking for. I hope it was worth it.