I find this letter hard to start. Its been years since we’ve spoken, but hardly a moment since you’ve strayed from my mind. Words can’t express how sorry I am for having left. I hope that you’ve come to understand that I didn’t have a choice. I know that you probably wish me dead, and that’s fine, but I have to tell you. Its happening. I don’t know what started it exactly, but its too late now. Somehow I thought running away would change things. Foolish. I can still hide it for now, but I fear that soon, others will start to notice how different I’m becoming. Just today I barely managed to conceal a cut that bled black. For now though, I’m doing good things. Just maybe, you’ll be proud.