I've been sitting back here in the office for the last half hour, looking at old pictures. You think that I'm mad at you. That's not really true. Sure, we had a little fight tonight, and that's all it was. It wasn't even a real fight, we got indignant at each other, that's all it was. Compared to the way that some other couples are at each other's throats, I think our average of one fight a year is doing pretty well.

I suppose that the truth is much easier to type out than to say, so I'll do it this way. Mostly because trying to form sentences and say them is so much harder than forming the words when you're not around to hear them. I get all choked up and feel silly, and then resort to telling you that it's no big deal and that I'll be just fine when I get a good night's sleep. And, hell, for all I know maybe that's the case today.

However, dear, the thing is that I'm really lonely and homesick. I know that it's such a pathetic thing to be homesick at twenty-five, as a rather down-to-earth coworker pointed out to me today. But if there's one thing that you must know about me is that it's not so much the home as an emotion that I miss, but rather the home as a location I miss more than anything. I love living with you out here in your home, and being with you is more joy than I knew was possible. However, at times such as these, I want nothing more in the world than to be in the hills and the valley and feel truly connected with something. Perhaps I would feel better if the last two visits home we've made weren't clouded with death.

In actuality, it is mostly my fault for feeling this way. I never really imbedded myself in this city the way that I know you hoped I would. Besides you and your friends, I never really made an effort to make anything resembling an attachment to people and places out here. I have been trying, and I have found parts of this city that I truly love. It must be the hick part of me that makes me want to return to those places I've spent a majority of my life struggling so hard to escape from.

This must seem like a very large detachment from the fight we were having earlier tonight, but it's been on my mind since we were at my brother's house on Sunday, looking at pictures and talking about babies. Now I've got that picture of my father as the background on the laptop, and the more I look at that picture, the more my father looks like me. Then we fight and I turn into a walking train wreck and tell you I'd rather be left alone, and none of those things were right. I'm sorry about being such a prick.

I'm just going crazy inside and can't find the words, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.