I will always be entrenched in secrets.
You know all of them. Even when they are miniscule, sometimes when they are forgotten, often when they belong to others, and especially when they are grand. Lately I've found myself retreating back to you, Simon, to give you some more.
Sometimes, I accidentally fall over little treasures that I want to keep for myself. And I think, "You know, Simon would love this." I want to lie down with those things and feel their pulse. And hope that it lasts one second more. Or hope that it dies quickly so you can get on with other things.
I know now of people who are wondrous and broken at the same time. When you begin to filet your dreams at the expense of pursuing them does it really make it worth it anymore? I try too hard to make people like you, to prove something to only one stubborn skeptic, to show that yes in fact, I am not a coward, I will do what I do even if I lose.
Some people have assumed your guise and are wearing your shoes. I see you walking among them. They know the things you know. But they don't know each other. I feel worlds are starting to collide.
I know now that you and I will still always be brothers in arms, dear Simon. Let me know if you've anything to impart. I'm listening.