It took John two more weeks to build up the strength the open the letter. For two weeks it sat, like it had in the many months since Alexander had put it there, in its drawer while John's emotions swirled. His unwavering sadness surged as he thought of the message, but he also experienced a feeling that could parallel happiness as he realized he would get to hear from Alexander one last time. He ripped open the envelop, eager to experience Alexander's gift for words one last time.

My Dearest John,

Currently, you are sleeping next to me. I find myself unable to sleep, for there are a thousand thoughts flowing through my mind, but I do not have the strength to wake you up, so I am writing my thoughts down in this letter. I will attempt to write this without waking you...

I never want you to forget to how deep my love for you is. For all the words I know, I do not know any that will allow me to rightly express the depths of my feelings for you, John. It frustrates me how you somehow manage to silence me. I always have words, but never enough for you; you, for whom I have so much to say, but no way to say it. I will try to say it all.

Firstly, I love every bit of you. I love your freckles, you know I do. I love your crazy, curly hair. I love that smirk you give me when I say something exceptionally stupid. I love the way your eyes light up, like they most likely are now, when I tell you I love you. Gosh, John, you are so beautiful. You really are. I admit I may be slightly biased...

I love your hands. This may sound like an odd thing to be saying, but I love hands. Hands are our outlet to the universe. We feel the surrounding world with them. We use our hands to express the thoughts and ideas bundled up inside our brains. And your hands are especially nice. And I love holding them. John, you better believe I would hold your hand till the world ended if I were able to.

I love that you put up with every part of me, every broken edge and every rounded side. You always tell me it is your privilege to deal with me. You tell me you love every single part of me, and you make me actually believe it.

I love the way you smell. You probably laughed at that, but it's true. You smell like the vanilla in your shampoo, that eucalyptus air freshener you spray everywhere, and something like old books. But mostly, John, you smell like home.

Which leads me to what I really wanted to say: you are home. A few days ago, I found myself desperately wanting to go home, to Nevis, and I almost bought a ticket without telling you. As much as my memories from my childhood haunt me, I find myself longing for the places where the memories were made. But then I realized, I am home. I was home the day I met you. My home is where you are, John, not matter on Earth we may find ourselves. My place in the universe is where I get to be with you.

I struggle with time, John. I pray I will have enough time with you. I pray our time does not run out too quickly. With our story just beginning, our lives ahead of us, I am hit with the realization that I only know endings. Nothing in my life has lasted as long as it should have. Again, I find myself without the words to explain how I really feel. All I know is I pray, my love, that we last.

I never want to leave you.

And I am unable to fathom you leaving me.

Everything that I have ever wanted, and everything I never knew I needed, manifests itself in you, John. You are my universe.

As I write this, it almost brings me to tears trying to unravel everything I feel for you. My mind fails me, my hand fails me, my pen fails me when I think of you, you, you... You will never understand because I am unable to help you understand. For now, you must put up with my late night, coffee induced ramblings on how much I love you, Johnny.

You know, I find myself watching you as the day passes. You charm everyone you meet, you always hold the attention of whatever room you're in. John, you have this amazing gift of making everyone you meet fall in love with you, something I myself have succumbed to. As your energy lights up a room, I smile to myself...because you chose me. Me, Alexander, who's only real friends are a piece of paper and a pen; me, abrasive, annoying, hot-tempered me. I am the lucky bastard that gets to fall asleep next to you, that gets to hold your hand, and that gets to kiss your forehead. So many people in this world, and you, the greatest person I have ever met in my entire life, chose me.

I guess what I am trying to say is thank you, John. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for rescuing my from myself. Thank you for keeping me safe. Thank you for knocking me down that one day in that coffee shop.

One more thing, I forgot to mention earlier how much I love your mind. You have the most beautiful mind I have ever encountered. Your mind has changed my outlook on the world; I now know love and joy and kindness thanks to your brain. You always seem to have the right words, always. No matter the situation, you know what to say or what not to say. (I would appreciate it greatly if you were able to teach me this).

I thank the Lord daily that he led me to you.

If this letter finds it way into your hands, just know: I love you, John, entirely, truly, deeply, and madly.

Eternally yours,

Alexander

John quietly folded the letter up when he reached the end. He was numb. He hadn't been prepared for what Alexander had written that night in his scrawly rushed hand. His mind was reeling, trying to process what he had just read. Not even his tears would come as he stood in anguish. He stuffed the letter back into its envelop and noticed it was dated from over a year previous. He pressed his back against the wall and slowly sunk to the floor. John closed his eyes, placing his head in his hands as he thought back to better times - times with Alexander.