I'm writing you from a clearing on this mountain. The sky is clear and the air crisp. There's a huge, flat rock at the edge of the clearing that rises above the long grass and slowly warms in the sun. I spend most of my days here, writing or just lost in thought.
I can't remember the last time I saw another person. I only remember the last time we were together.
Nights, I return to my little cabin. It is still cold enough that a fire is needed if I'm to sleep comfortably. I hang my food in the trees to keep the bears away. So every evening I get to think of you again. You always remind me of bears, because you love them so. They are everywhere here, some still streaming down from their dens to lower elevations where the food is more plentiful.
I miss you, darling. I keep thinking that something might happen to bring us together again, if we really are apart. Sometimes I feel like you will always be inside me, at least part of you. Or maybe it's the part of us that is meant to be together, the part of us that will always be intertwined, whether we like it or not.
The wind is picking up here, so I'll have to close--it gets to be impossible to write when it's like this.
I hope you are well. I hope all the things about life that bother you--all the world's petty cruelties and thoughtless people--I hope they are leaving you alone today. There is nothing like them here. There is no one to see, no news to hear, no need for any of that. I'm not sure how long they'll let me stay here, or how many letters I'll be allowed to write. Every day I compose a letter to you in my mind. If I wrote them all down they'd make a book you'd never be able to finish.
I love you.