Can you believe I’ve just started decorating for Christmas? I think it must have slipped my mind. That’s the first time that’s happened in years, really; I’m usually so excited about making everything look like the holidays. I have a feeling my mind was taken up with more important thoughts this year.
I missed you so much this weekend. Just the fact that I wasn’t writing to you, and wasn’t able to, was putting me in that cocoa-alone-by-the-fire mood. Did I miss something important? If I did, would you write back and tell me about it?
I’ve been working all day wrapping presents; I can hardly type anything out in a letter. If I make a few mistakes, I hope you’ll forgive me. I want to say a million wonderful things to you, but those wonderful things won’t come into my tired head.
I keep thinking about Christmas Eve, and how perfect it would be if I could be with you. Do you think about it, too? I wish I knew if you still wanted to see me on Christmas Eve at all. I don’t want to read your last letter to find out. I want you to tell me now. I know how you felt the day you wrote that letter – at least, for the most part – but feelings change, hey? You’ll write back again?
I’ve been working on a couple presents for you, love. For Christmas. If it comes to it, I can just give them to Dom to deliver to you. At least, I can give most of them to him. Some of what I’m putting together can’t really be delivered. But it can still be felt. If I write about it, would that deliver some of the feeling? That would be usual of me, I suppose; sending your present in the form of a letter.
Sometimes I think I write too many letters. I’ve gone too far only filling up pages for you when I should have been filling up your heart. I should have been telling you I cared about you this whole time; I really should have. What can letters on paper do? You can read them over and over, Billy, but you’ll never really understand how I feel through them.
Please, please let me show you in person.
Say that you’ll see me Christmas Eve. Even if it only lasts for a few minutes.
Write back. I only have two days. Then...you won’t have to be mine anymore. You won’t have to think about me again. I won’t beg at your feet anymore and I won’t send anymore letters. No, I won’t.
Tell me I’m a fool,