1 month in

Dear Michonne,

I woke up somewhere strange, far. I don't know where I am. My eyes are heavy, and I can't remember who you are anymore, but I know you exist. I'm just not sure who you are to me. I remember you being beautiful, and I'm not sure if you're real. I'm not sure if anything is. I just know that my dream of you last night felt more real than anything Jadis tells me, or the men that wear hazmat suits and never show their eyes. Who are you, Michonne? Why do I feel such love for you? Where are my memories of you? Why am I here? These are the questions that I ask everyday beyond fail, but no one answers me.

I'm in a room, Michonne. It's smaller than most jail cells, and I'm strapped to a bed with just a book and a bit of light. The doctors tell me that I'm an "A;" I don't know what that is. They took my memories from me and put them in a box somewhere, but somehow some of them remain in my dreams. I don't know what's real anymore. I dream of you, and you feel like someone I've known, someone I've loved. I can see your eyes, which are the deepest shade of brown, and I melt into them. In my dream last night, I touched your skin, which was so smooth and soft, that I nearly wept.

I smelt your scent: coconuts and a tinge of apples from our apple orchard. I saw your smile, which was brighter than the sun, and made my heart soar.

I fell in love with you, a stranger. I have to find you. I have to remember.

Rick Grimes.