My Dearest Xxxxxxxx,
Sixty days and I am still standing. My heart is numb, my hands are weary, my ink runs dry. I can barely hear the beating of my heart, but I know I am alive, I feel the gentle thumping in my chest.
My eyes are dry, I have no tears left. My cheeks, they have lost their colour. The outline of my face, now a man of fifty. Grief reigns my life, I have no control. I am a victim of true love, a battle of which I was not prepared, a battle that I have yet to finish fighting.
In sixty days, I have destroyed myself. In sixty days, I have lost everything. In sixty days, I do not love you any less. The weight of life on my shoulders bears down on me hard. I fight each day for salvation, for relief. My muscles are sore, my head, heavy.
But you are not victorious. I will not back down. Life, will fear me.
In sixty days, I am a new person. In sixty days, I will fix everything. In sixty days, I will be complete. I will trample the difficulties of life like snakes under my feet. I will seize each day like the warrior that I am.
Out of what you have destroyed, I have created. Not from the remnants of my former self, but of new beginnings. He will learn to live, he will learn to love. He will hold his armour up, he will never again fall to his opponents.
If Love come at him again, he will face it bravely. I will face it bravely.
Sixty days and I am yours still.