I don’t know what we were. I don’t know what we are. I don’t know the color of your eyes when you look at the sunset or when you stare at the night sky as you trace the stars into constellations. I don’t know how it feels like to touch your hand and I don’t know how your voice sounds when it is 7am and you just woke up from a very bad dream. I don’t know how you would like your coffee— whether it is black or white or sweet. I don’t know the little things that could make you smile and I don’t know how your laugh sounds each time you hear a very funny joke. I don’t know how your perfume smells like and I don’t know how your favorite sweater looks like. I don’t know a lot of things about you. But one thing I know is that I gave you my heart (and it is still yours) and that right now, as I type these words out, seven minutes before midnight in where I am and I believe that the sun has just risen from where you are, I am wishing for nothing but for you to be okay. I hope you wake up not feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. I hope you find something that could make you happy— even if it is not me. I hope you are okay. And I will be okay. I promise.