[begin transmission]

I don't know where you are.

I don't know if you are there. 

I don't know if you're listening, if these words would ever reach you.

I do know, that in some abstract form, you are still here with me. I am keeping you alive.

Maybe I'm engaging in some wishful thinking. That somehow, I am speaking with you directly.

That's the objective truth, isn't it? You're gone. You're never coming back. A fact of ten years now.

There is absolutely no one there. I'm throwing these thoughts of mine into a void, aimlessly

But the memory of you is still there, and that much is very real. That part of you still affects me.

It would be a lie if I said that I think of you everyday. You remember well, I hope.

How caught-up in the moment I was. I'd get tunnel vision you'd chronically have to shake me from.

Though, it isn't a lie to say that I do think of you very frequently. It's impossible not to.

Someone that proved to be so pivotal in my development, someone who taught me what a soul was.

I couldn't ever forget you. I likely never would. That is why I am here.

There will always be that part of me that doesn't quite understand those romantic notions of yours.

Kindness, courage, honor, nobility, love, selflessness. None of it really adds up in my analysis.

Given everything I know, all of my experience, these concepts never fully parse. And yet...

Given everything I know, all of my experience, these concepts I could never really do without.

Life without art, without beauty, without the sublime is too bleak and too sad. You taught me that.

There are some things that do not necessarily have to make sense rationally, to be profound.

I've thought about it over the years; my hypothesis is that it is because we're limited, linguistically.

It isn't some thing intrinsic to the piece of art that makes it unspeakable; it's our own inexpression.

What do you think about that hypothesis?

How many spoonfuls of sugar and cups of coffee would it take for us to reach armistice? 

Although I rarely showed any mercy, you were always a gentleman. A perfect gentleman.

After every spirited disagreement, you would ruffle my hair and reassure me the answer would come.

Secretly, I hated such compassionate gestures. I always thought them patronizing. 

But now I miss it more than anything.

I'm quickly finding that there are no answers. Nearly everything that I had taken for bedrock is sand.

Even the very axioms that I've borrowed from the minds of great thinkers are tenuous at best.

The only sure-fire thing I can rely on is myself, and my ability to hold on, steadfastly.

I feel as if you knew that. Was this the lesson to be learned? Was I too naive to notice it before?

I'll be taking the lesson to heart, then.

I'm happy to report that I've been taking very good care of myself. Your impeccable little soldier.

There are the occasional slip-ups, here and there. Most of it caused by work and personal projects.

But you know me very well, and you know that I've never been one to struggle with the basics.

However, on the non-basics, sometimes  I really do wonder if you'd be sufficiently proud of me.

Since you've been gone, I'd made several good friends; friends that I feel I can keep for life.

Hard to believe, isn't it? I've really tried...to not be so hostile. To not be so standoffish.

It's served me well, being able to get it under control. I've learned to pick my battles, finally.

You'd also be thrilled to hear that I've even managed to cooperate in a few romances...

Though...it brings me hesitation to say that with ultimate certainty. I'm not sure if you'd approve.

With each and every year that passes by, the bounds of your generosity become more unclear.

I took that generosity for granted once before, the consequences of which still bring me pause.

In that regard, I'm almost certain I've been a let down.

I've always wondered what you would think of me, as I am now. This...person I've become.

Would you be disappointed? Would you blame yourself? Mother? I wonder if she blames you too.

People think one way but behave differently. You're no exception to this and neither am I.

And now, that void I mentioned before suddenly becomes a comfort. I don't know why I do this.

I still cling to the hope that you'd take pride in how much I've accomplished, regardless.

That you'd be able to fully understand and embrace me. Accept me. But there is so much doubt.

It doesn't really matter, I suppose. There's no utility to be had in entertaining such thoughts.

It'll likely be one of those things left forever unresolved. An answer will never come.

Even so, I will take what you've carefully laid out for me, and try to meet your expectations.

Because at the very least partial fulfillment of this opportunity is better than zero fulfillment.

Seldom am I left without a sense of gratitude towards you, even after all that had transpired.

Without you, I wouldn't be here, period. That much is an immutable truth.

[end transmission]