Page 210 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

And they all seem to come from different places.

Same goes for the postcards, all of which bear pictures from various countries, states, and capitals.

London, Paris, Rome.

I reach inside and pick up the postcard atop the pile. It’s a Los Angeles postcard with the Hollywood sign photographed from afar.

The oxygen swooshes from my lungs when I turn it over and notice the date.

This was written five years ago.

Hey Hads,

I’ve never written a postcard before. Is Hey even the proper way to start one? I have no idea.

It doesn’t matter, though. All that matters is that I made you a promise. A promise I intend to keep.

I’ve been in LA for a week now and I don’t like it here. My mom says I need time to adjust, but there’s a part of me that misses Silver Springs. Or maybe it’s you that I miss.

You, and your laugh and our secret meetings in the shed. I haven’t been able to sleep thinking about the way I left.

I think I’d love this place a lot more if you were there to see it with me. I think I’d love any place a lot more if you were there to see it with me.

I miss you.

P.S. I got you a keychain with your name on it.

Kane

Seconds elapse before the information registers.

There’s just no way.

He kept his promise?

The ache in my throat becomes unbearable when I’m brought back to that day.

We were in the shed, and I’d just shown him one of my paintings for the first time.

He made me promise to send him some art once I was a famous painter, and I answered with a joke, asking him to send me postcards of all the amazing places he would see as a famous singer.

And he did it.

He actually did it.

I go through the pile of postcards, my sight covered by a thick veil of tears.

All the postcards date back to when Kane was fifteen, up until the day he turned eighteen. Then he stopped writing them.

He never sent them to me.

Every city he visited, every beautiful place he saw… he wrote a postcard about.

I grab another postcard at random. This one dates to before Gray died.

Hey Hads,

I’m in New York this week. Work has been crazy since my album came out. My label’s on my ass to write more romantic songs like the one I wrote for you, but every time I do, they say they’re too depressing.

---