Dear Lindsay,
Do you know what it's like to not be able to breathe? And I don't mean like that. I mean, your lungs forget how to exhale because your whole bosy is too busy with something else.
That's how I feel, every morning, when I walk into the lab. I'm scared you won't be there or worse, you'll be in the arms of somebody else. Which is stupid, because in whose arms would you be in the middle of the Crime Lab. Maybe mine. I wish.
There is something I need to confess: I lied to you. I said I want dinner, drinks, a few laughs. Thing is, I can't promise that. Maybe after dinner I'll realise that a few laughs aren't enough. Maybe I'll want something more. More serious, more of you. Maybe I already do.
I don't know what I thought you'd do with this. I guess, I hoped you'd reply. But I expected you to throw it away.
I know you're going through more than I could ever imagine. Maybe I could, if you told me.
You might not be in New York, But you're always in my heart, Montana.
Love,
Danny