Dear Luc,

It’s been entirely too long since I have written something like this, but I thought that I had gotten past writing to a dead man (but you were always right in the end, weren’t you?). I thought that I wouldn’t need this again… but I wanted to tell you that I missed you.

And if there was ever a time that I needed you to just climb through a window, take a look me in this state and ask ‘Pound of Flesh or a Pound of Cake?’, it’s now, love. I want you to lay out the knives and go into that long story of what each one does (‘smooth to slice, teeth for bone…). I want to sit on that hard floor and cry and punch and rage. And when I was exhausted and hoarse, I want you to ask again…Flesh or Cake? (now I’m missing Hough Bakery and Farka’s too…)

Not that I could make that choice nowadays… I have returned to my Love (so no violence here…I know), and I have celiac (I can’t have wheat… I know, I KNOW!!). I think more than anything else, right now, I miss the security of having you in my corner, knowing that you bent the world to my will and laid waste those who hurt me. There have been those who healed, those who listened, those who have advised, but none who have fought. You were a fighter. I need that right now. I need it so badly.

Nights like tonight, I remember when it was nothing for you to grab someone by the collar and yell “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, SEE WHAT YOU DID?” It was nothing for you to just let me have it when I was off the mark (then cake because I was feeling like shitte because I knew you were right and it was my fault).
You never lied to me. You never wanted anything more than to be a friend to me. You could be a dick, but that was fine because you were fair and kind. You never put up with my shitte, but you were never cruel.

It was so very difficult being a friend to you, but it was so very worth it.

Luc, I gave up the armor and I have never felt weaker in my life. I made the mistake of trusting again and I paid for it. And now I am hearing the same old thing (be patient, be the better person, do the right thing), and see them get away with it yet again because there are no fighters, only sad and guilty looks when I pass. I’m tired from hurting, too old to rage, and My Love has removed any desire for blood. I have come full circle back into the darkness.
It was my fault. I thought that I could find another you, another bright light that would light the path until I saw His love and glory again. I thought I needed that. I didn’t, but I wanted it because being with you was the last time I felt truly protected. But even you said that you wouldn’t fit in the life I was fated to have.

And, all in all, it is very good and you wouldn’t have fit into it at all. But it would have been so comforting to know that I was a phone call away from rattling cages and sabers, sitting next to the guy that would have stomped a mudhole in someone caused me to shed a tear, sharing a cake.

I miss you, love. Thanks for always fighting for me.