Kurt had done this less and less as he'd gotten older. He still had the box of letters, unsent, unread by anyone but himself. There wasn't a single one that didn't have a tear stain on it somewhere. He thought as he grew up it might hurt less, but of course it didn't.

It had been his dad's idea, said in strained voice, trying so hard not to break down.

"You know, Kurt, if something's bothering you, you can always talk to me about it?"

Kurt, eight years old, cheeks striped with tears for the third time that day, shook his head.

"It's not the same. You're not her."

He didn't want to upset him, and Burt knew that, but it stung. It killed him to see how heartbroken his son was and he hated that there was nothing he could do about it.

He knelt next to Kurt's bed where he was curled into a ball and took his hand.

"Then tell her. I still talk to her sometimes."

Kurt sniffed.

"You do?"

"Sure. Like tonight, when I was trying to fix dinner. I told her she was a much better cook than me."

"You just said it? Out loud?"

"Sure. Nothing wrong with talking to someone when you miss them. And you know I was right about the cooking."

Kurt giggled for a second and sniffed again. Burt reached up and used his sleeve to wipe Kurt's cheek and nose.

"I like it, really. I know you're trying."

Burt smiled. He sounded just like her.

"Tomorrow we'll make it together, okay? And Kurt, if you don't want to say it out loud, you could always write it down. You like writing, don't you?"

Kurt nodded. His eyes were still glistening with tears, but a smile was playing on his lips.

"You mean write her a letter?"

"Yeah. Tell her what's new at school, how you're feeling, and nobody will ever see them if you don't want to. It can just be for her."

"But she won't answer."

"No, she won't, but this way she'll still be with you. She didn't answer me today, but I could picture her rolling her eyes and laughing at me, and it felt like she was here. She won't write back, but she'll be listening."

He felt silly, but Burt helped him write the first one and then made them hot chocolate and wrapped a warm, bulky arm around him and for the first time that week he went to bed with dry eyes.

They became Kurt's diary.

Mommy, I really miss you.

Mommy, Dad tried to cook a chicken but it was raw on the inside. He made sandwiches instead though and they were delicious!

Mommy, I learnt how to say hello in French today. Bonjour!

Mom, Dad bought me a new coat for winter. I don't like how it looks, but he said at least it would be warm.

Mom, I think I'm different to the other boys in my class. They're really noisy. I like playing with the girls better.

Mom, I met a boy today. I've never met anyone like him before. I really like him.

The handwriting changed, the letters got longer if a little less frequent, but they all said he missed her.

He looked at his desk. There were more sketches on it than sheet music, even though he was really supposed to be prepping for his audition. He pushed them all aside and picked out a clean piece of paper. He always had to do it by hand. He had been too busy to write to her for months, but his mind was so scattered and noisy he just needed some kind of catharsis. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before looking down at the blank canvas and writing.

This was the one thing that was never hard. Even with his dad it was difficult sometimes, being completely honest, but this was always straightforward.

Mom,

I spoke to him last night. I told him I still love him. I wasn't even going to call him; I was ready to say goodbye and try to move on, but we were having a party and it was so loud and I was away from home for Thanksgiving and nothing says home quite like Blaine.

For a second I forgot. I forgot anything had happened and I just felt like I was talking to my boyfriend. It felt wonderful. Of course I remembered again, and it still hurt, but when he laughed he was still Blaine. He's not a different person. A bad person doesn't laugh like that. A bad person doesn't sound so overjoyed about the possibility of seeing me at Christmas. I know he still loves me. I always knew, really. And just because he hurt me doesn't mean I don't love him too.

People say things get glorified once they're gone. Like everyone's nicer about someone when they're dead, or you can think something is special just because it's over. I guess it's true, but not always. Not you. I know you were exactly as perfect as I remember you. I'm not making you out to be some kind of angel. You had a filthy laugh and you hated housework and you made the best chocolate cake in the world and you smelled like roses, and you could make me feel safe with just a smile.

I know I'm remembering you right, just like I know I'm not imagining it with me and Blaine. We were special. Being with him made me happier than I'd ever been before. My stomach flipped every time he smiled at me, even after a year. Holding his hand was like being wrapped up in a blanket. When he hugged me, I felt grounded. Safe. I finally stopped feeling so alone. We argued about stupid stuff and he used to get upset when I was too scared to kiss him at school and there were dumb fights about other boys and now there's this. There's this giant thing that's killing me, that makes me want to hate him, but I can't imagine a future without him. I'm not lonely like I was before I met him, because I've got great friends and colleagues and Dad, of course, but I feel so… Blaine-less, and it's just as bad. Everything's going so well, but I know I would enjoy it more if I had him to enjoy it with.

It was just really nice hearing his voice again, Mom.

I miss you so much. I wish you were here. I always do, but I feel like you'd be able to say something to make this okay.

Happy Thanksgiving, Mom. Keep an eye on Dad for me.

All my love,

Kurt

x

He folded it up and pressed a kiss to the paper, tucking it away in a drawer with the few others he'd written since he'd been here. He remembered the letter he'd written the day after Blaine had kissed him ('MOM HE KISSED ME HE PUT HIS MOUTH ON MY MOUTH AND IT WAS REALLY NICE OH MY GOD I THINK I HAVE A BOYFRIEND AAAAAHHHHH') and smiled. He felt a twist in his stomach, and for once it wasn't the horrible kind, the kind when he'd remembered everything all over again and it had knocked the wind out of him. It was the feeling of starting over and new possibilities, and his heart beginning to stitch itself back together. It was Blaine.