we've been riding to the lake on my days off to share a drink on the rocks. i got your letter the other night. i read it outside my gate. holding onto your paper, i notice smudges on the corners left from the dirt on my hands. crumpled by the wind, i follow the ink smeared across the paper as you write. what lovely texture in your message. how did you know i was going to add to this without writing a single word?