There are days when I miss you terribly.

Days when I want nothing more than to see you smile at me, watch you beam and babble on as you did when you showed me a map, a tangerine, a trinket you made, a book you stole. I want to hear about the maps you're drawing now, of strange places nobody's ever drawn before. I want to see the latest casual fashion finds, bargains you've hunted down in back alleys on islands so far away that nobody here's ever even heard their names. I want to know how your tangerine trees are doing.

There's no such thing as Hell, did you know that? I'm sure your swordsman friend will be glad to hear it. Tell him so, the next time he tells you you're going there. Tell him Hell is a place we make ourselves, built from nothing but our own grief and pain.

I knew Hell for eight years, because I watched you, and never once saw you really smile.

I knew before you did that you would join that crew. Oh, how I knew. Do you remember? That scrawny boy turning to you, grinning like a kid on Christmas. You gave him a map, and he took the whole navigator. Just like a pirate.

You smiled. Just a little.

I know you're laughing now, nearly every day. You're on the Grand Line by now, I bet, and that puppy cook of yours is waiting on you hand and foot, and that grumpy swordsman is off acting twice his age, and the clown with the slingshot is fooling around with the clown in the straw hat that you call captain. It's no wonder you laugh so much.

That laugh is my Heaven.

I love you, Nami. Always.

Bellemere

p.s. Tell your rubber captain

...tell him I like his hat.