My love,

I miss you. Oh God. I miss you so bloody much. You would think that being able to call and to see you via Skype would dull the pain of missing you but it doesn't. If anything, it enhances my need to be with you. To touch your golden locks. To stare into your beautiful green irises. To kiss your freckled skin. To feel you radiate while you smile.

Maybe I'm a bit drunk while writing this and maybe- not maybe, timezones don't change- you'll get this while you're eating dinner or while you're watching television. All of that doesn't matter, however. You're probably asking yourself why I'm drinking again after I solemnly swore to quit. Well, my love, it seems that alcohol can feign happiness in some way. Because that's the only way I've been able to feel it since you left again.

I was thinking about we met. Not your conventional first meeting and still, when I saw you, pocket knife against my throat (darling, how you ever think I would try to rob you still beats me), a small seed was planted. That seed eventually grew into the most breathtaking flower. That little seed grew in such a hostile environment where nothing had grown for years. While you were here, there was so much sun and light and that's all gone. It's difficult to nourish our flower and to cherish it when you're across the globe. And every month apart is another petal that falls of. (I'm sorry for the cheesy metaphor. My mind is a bit too foggy to find a better one.)

We agreed to this, I know. We agreed to wait until you got that promotion before you returned. We agreed that we should save our money before purchasing expensive plane tickets again. But how I ache for you, Emma. It's omnipresent. A throbbing feeling in the pit of my stomach. A clenching feeling in my heart. That's how much I love you.

I think I'm going to quit my job. Just resign and come to you. Because this is not the life I want to live. I don't think, I'm going to. I'll call my boss after I've finished writing this. I'll call him and say that I'm done. Yes, that's what I'll do. Maybe not tonight. It's quite late and I think the slur of my words the alcohol has caused will not leave a good impression.

Liam has told me so many times I should follow my heart. So I'll follow my heart. A couple of hours ago he even suggested that you and I get married. The anger I felt towards then in that moment was indescribable. I don't even know why. It was a logical suggestion. Even a logical next step in our relationship. But hearing him say I should marry you in order for me to see you again infuriated me so much that I threw him out. I went straight to the liquor cabinet and I'm still sitting here, typing this out. It just seemed unfair for us to marry only to be able to live in the same country, but if you could see me now, you would understand that it's unfair that we're not.

Maybe we should get married. I'm already sure you're the one for me, Swan. No one else could ever come close to what you do to me. To what you mean to me. It would be an honor to be married to you. I don't know if your parents would approve (though, after hearing their love story, it would surprise me if they didn't.) But we'll convince them. They've always liked me, so that won't be a problem.

God, I'm assuming you would want to marry me too, without even waiting on your reply. You're probably thinking more clearly than I am. Am I being mad man, Emma? Would you actually marry someone like me? Is this all worth it? So many bloody questions

Sorrow and alcohol are a bad combination, love. I feel exhausted. Sleep is luring me in and causing my eyelids to close over and over again. It's a good idea to go to bed. An empty bed which will still be empty when I wake up in the morning. A bed without you in it.

I'm sorry, Emma.

I love you so much.

These six months feel like an eternity.

Killian