You don't know the impact of a moment until it's done impacting.

     It leaves its mark and it's only after you've stepped out of the shape of it that you can even tell it's there. This is my life. I am a series of moments that have left human-sized holes. I catch my foot in the places where people once were and are now no longer.

     There are moments in my life where I carved out the holes myself, placed the C-4, lit the fuse, and stepped back far enough to watch it go off before the blast took me out, too.

     My psychiatrist would call this self-destructive behavior. She could be right. The thing is Ashley is always saying something and I don't always want to hear it. Like recently, she asked me to use positive affirmations to enforce positive behavior.

     "Why don't you try it?" she had said. "I am going to move on. I am living my life. I am happy."

     I am a circumstance of my life.

     I am an undone man.

     I am unraveling.

     I think I'll keep these ones to myself.

     I'm sitting under the morning light in the kitchen of Private Weston's. I've been sitting here for five years, writing letters that I never send. And when I finish, I fold the paper into threes, tuck it into an envelope, tuck the envelope into a manila folder. There are three folders now, stuffed full of letters I didn't even sit with long enough to proofread. This is one thing Ashley and I agree on. Mostly, anyway.

     "It's good to get your feelings out, but why don't we try journaling, instead? Writing to someone we don't know, or maybe even a future you?"

     It's not that Ashley isn't an advocate for Cas. Ashley is an advocate for moving forward and moving forward almost always means moving on. I don't tell her that I'll never move on, not because I'm waiting, not because I'm holding out hope, but because I don't deserve the peace that comes with burying, with forgetting.

     It's why I keep his letters. It's why I reread them -- enough times now to recite them from memory. My life is a routine, one that isn't always kind to me but that I still fall into with ease.

     Dres,                                                                                                                   01/21/16

     It is so freaking sunny here. I'm talking sunny literally ALL of the time. California's like this one giant dare to be unhappy. You can't be unhappy here. But you can certainly try. That's what my mom says. Because evidently, I'm not happy? Like fair, mom, but what is actually so important about being happy?

     Here's the thing. My classes are a snore and my professors are dry as hell. I actually dread going to class. And having to sit there and pretend that I care about my ridiculous professor's obsession with bees? We have seriously discussed bees for two lectures already.

     I'm trying to remind myself they're just gen eds. Once I get into my major, things will get at the very least a bit more interesting? Granted, I have no idea what the F I want to major in. AND ALSO I don't really get how you make friends on college campuses when you see so many people and no people all at the same time? I guess it doesn't help that I don't dorm. I don't really care to dorm, though. Mom's trying to get me fill out a request for the fall and I'm just like. No thanks?

     We're renting a place by the beach. (Which is to say she's renting a place bc I am poor and in desperate need of a job) I've never lived by the beach before. I get to wake up everyday and throw open my doors (the balcony ones) to the ocean. Okay, so like not DIRECTLY TO the ocean. But it's there, ya know? Like in my eye line. If I had a really good arm, I could throw a frisbee or a football to the sand. Like if I had YOUR arms. I am now thinking about your arms. Love that for me.

     So anyway I start my days with a swim in the ocean. Granted, it's absolutely frigid. But how many people can say that? (Probably lots, my worldview is so limited)

     I wanna go on record: I don't like it here. I'm not going to pretend that I do because I definitely do not. I do like aspects of here. But I also liked aspects of home. Namely you. Weston's. The food, god the food. My FRIENDS. My friends, who, by the way, are not on speaking terms anymore. I know I said I'd update you on that so here's the tea. That's what all the cool kids are saying by the way. The tea. You spill it and if its really juicy you can say something dumb like its extra hot.

     Well, the tea is this: HALSTON CAME OUT.

     You're probably rolling your eyes at my all-caps use here but it was necessary ok. Because WTF. I feel like I may in fact be the most oblivious or self involved human being on this planet. Uhm, actually now that I'm really thinking about it, I guess I'm both? Because as mind blowing and outta left field it was for me, still doesn't beat how mind blowing and outta left field it was when you

     Anyway. I know I said — I promised really — I wasn't going to bring it up. Water under the bridge.

     So. Halston is queer.

     I get that she has a right to her own coming out when she wants it but I'm her best friend, so I don't really know how you can be someone's best friend and not tell them something so important. But then I don't really understand how you can be someone's boyfriend and not

     Also Halston had a thing for Grace. I guess that's minimizing it. Halston loves — loved? Grace. And Grace KNEW. She said she had a feeling but Halston would never say anything so Grace kept pushing until she finally just pushed her away. THIS was the source of all their bickering last year. And you know when you learn something and then you look at the past with this whole new lens? All these details I missed. Halston was JEALOUS all those times with Grace, and Grace with all her sly comments about dating and boyfriends. I'm honestly shocked I missed all of this but also given my ability to just not see shit that's right in front of me I don't think I should be at all shocked. I mean you did manage to reenlist right in front of— ok I'm done. Strike that from the record. I'm really not even mad. I know I probably sound mad but I can assure you. Me? Mad? Don't know her.

     It's just that it's freaking hard having two best friends who aren't friends anymore. And it's freaking hard being in a new school and knowing nobody. And it's freaking hard missing you all the time. So yeah, everything is hard, Dres. The days are long, longer since the sun is always freaking up. And I'm tired. And I just want to know that you're okay. So send a lifeline up. Please?

     Always,

     Cas

     I'm content to sit there forever, playing the sound of his voice in my head, but then Dolores walks in, making too much noise to ignore. The sound of his voice changes — is thrown off. It could be anyone on my mind, now.

     She stops in the doorway and stares at the island, at the letters. Her mouth forms this strong line, her lips pressed tightly together to keep herself from saying anything. We don't talk about the letters. We don't talk about what I did or about Cas. We did talk about it, once, and then we didn't talk again for six months.

     "Are you going to start baking, or should I sell air today?"

    Now when we do talk, it's with this hostility. It never went away. She couldn't get over it, couldn't forgive me for what I did and what I made her do. That she had to field his letters for years and dodge his calls. I wonder if Dolores hates me for what I made her become or hates me for what I became. For what I always was, maybe. Someone who hurts others, relentlessly.

     All these years later, I find myself forgetting why I did it. No longer feels like I had a reason. Maybe I just wanted to destroy something.

     I sigh, exasperated. "Why don't you just say what you want to say?" This is the role I play, the one where I pretend to be annoyed by her anger. I want it, though. Need it, really. It feeds the sick parts of me that feel never good enough. Maybe I don't want to be good enough.

     She places her hands on her hips. "What would you like me to say, Dresden?"

     "I don't know, Dolores," I snap losing the control I've spent years of my life working on. "Some sort of judgement you'd like to pass on how I chose to handle my relationship."

     "Oh, you mean cowardly? No, I don't believe I have anything else to say on the matter." She turns, then and walks out.

     I am a coward.