[ WP ] The mountains are waiting .

*Dear Hayden, * 
 
 *I'm missing you so much these days. How's Michigan? How is your cat? Have you stopped drinking yet? Colorado is wonderful. It's so great to be home. The winter has been long. But I ca n't really complain to you about winter now, can I? * 
 
 *I wish you'd come see me. I want to take you to the woods. There's something in the air that clears the head here. I want you come come see my favorite spots. There's this one place, where I hang my hammock in the summer often. There's this cave on the top of a hill. My favorite thing about it is when you wake up in the morning, just as the sun is starting the kiss the earth good morning. The air is just the right sort of bitter. The forest is teeming with the sound of animals just stirring in the morning light. I like to take my coffee to the edge of the cliff. Sitting there, teasing Death, I watch the sun rise of the rest of the country. Some mornings, I swear I can see all the way to the ocean. * 
 
 *There's this other place, far away from everything. I think you'd like it a lot. It's BLM lands, but its full of bison. When I camp there, it's almost like I'm one of my Indian ancestors, watching the bison run free. 
 Someday, Hayden, You can move here with me. We'll have a cabin somewhere far away and live off the land. We can write and make art together. The lands will inspire us. * 
 
 *I know times are hard for you. Nothing will ever be the same again. But it's okay, love. * 
 
 *This year has been hard without you. * 
 
 *With love, Rebecca. * 
 
 This was the last thing I ever wrote to my best friend. It was only three weeks before he took his life. I'll never forgive him. He'll never know how much I loved him. I had great plans for he and myself. I wanted to give him the world. I wanted to give him Bohéme. I wanted to live in the backwoods, with some horses and dogs, where nobody could ever find us. Where a trip for coffee was an adventure. He needed to be alone, I thought. The city was no good for him. He needed country, fresh air, a place to let his thoughts roam uninterrupted. But who was I to know what he needed. Ever aloof, he was. I always knew he was depressed, but he never told me just how bad it was. 
 
 They found his body on a thursday afternoon. It was hanging in the closet. He was almost three days dead at that point. His cat had started to eat his toes. He had no family, and few friends. They sent his ashes to me. I do n't think he would have wanted to be cremated. He'd've wanted to be fed to vultures or wolves. To be sent to sea. Ernest Hemingway was his hero. I sent his ashes to the wind, so that his spirit may be set free to fly. I burned sage for him. I tried to heal his broken soul. He never wrote me back. He did n't have time. His life ended like a book that ends in the middle of a sent
