Hey Sweets,

Here I am again. Another letter that might never reach you. They might not let you read this. Hell, they might be right to keep it from you. But I had to try. Again.

This space—the concrete, the bars, this entire place—they’re smaller than my own thoughts—and it’s driving me wild. When I close my eyes, I see you. Dancing. In my dreams, I’m the one you look at when you spin and spin and spin. Knowing you can’t dance right now? That tears me apart.

You can’t remember me. And that hurts, too. And I’m so sorry, Jennie. Not for me, but for you. For what I wish I could give you. For what I wish we could still have. There’s a part of me, the darker, greedier part, that wants to rip open the doors and make you remember. Force you to see what we were. But that’s not love, and it’s not right. It’s just desire and desperation, twisted up in a way that’s all too familiar.

So I sit here, and I think of you, and I hope you’re finding your way. I hope you’re strong and fierce and unstoppable, even if you can’t remember the steps.

Take care of yourself, Jennie. Dance again, even if it’s just for yourself. Live, even if it’s without me.

Love, always.

Gabriel.

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