Spent my latest days listening to La vie en Rose, and drinking tea on the porch, waiting for the snow to come. December never felt so wrong, and I hear you've never been prettier. I've been sitting in this library, thousands of miles from my life, writing another letter I know I won't send no matter how hard I try. Everyday, I'm feeling less. I'm hoping less. I'm missing you, you, and you. But for now, it's just me and the dog. Chérie, viens chez moi.