Hey, Newt,

I stayed up all night last night reading over all of our messages. Honestly, I don't see how you put up with me all that time. Then again, you're no perfect angel either. Just kidding, you're perfect compared to everyone else.

It never occurred to me that you only used my real name once. After that, it was all Tommy. Not that I'm complaining; you're the only person I let call me Tommy. Everyone else calls me Thomas. Except for Teresa, she calls me Tom. It makes me feel like a 30 year old man who lives in his mom's basement.

Knowing you, you'd probably laugh and say that's where I'll be when I'm 30 if I don't get off my bloody arse and start being productive.

I was going to propose, you know. Since I didn't know you were going to be here for my grad party, I was planning on taking you to the place you wanted to show me when I broke my foot. I've always felt bad because I never found out what I had missed out on. It was obvious you worked hard on it.

Speaking of which, you covered up the surprise by saying you'd murder me but then kill yourself because you'd miss me. I don't doubt that. You did take a bullet for me. But I know you wouldn't want me dying let alone killing myself.

My mom showed me a surprise yesterday when I dropped off my last letter. She'd bought a spot right next to you for me. So in a few years, decades hopefully, we'll be laying side by side, talking the night away once again.

I know my letters haven't been long, but I can't talk about everything in one letter. That'd be boring and we might lose the connection we still have through these. The connection I never want to lose.

--Tommy ❤