Dear Senior Researcher You-Know-Who;

I am sorry to hear news about your condition. May the failings of your health be painless, as much as they can be.

The many years and hard space flights to and fro have not dulled my least fond memory of you. I was in that uncomfortable chair in the back of the research cruiser, and you were reading over my shoulder pointing out every typo as we read our first draft of our very first report. It was the first time I wanted to kill you.

Anyway. Inkinvuld hasn't changed a bit since we were intrepid researchers getting pushed out onto a distant dwarf planet. Just as empty, just as quiet, just as sandy and beautiful. The central arch took my breath away the same way it did the first time. I remember how you wept, so devastated to be standing in the ruins of your thesis, rubble where a colony once stood. Remember when we thought we'd be apart of first contact? I do. I also remember all the reasons we're still angry at each other even now.

Attached to this document will be the grainiest, shittiest picture of the arch you will ever see. Consider it appropriate for the mood, I guess.

Regards, Secretary Researcher You-Know-Who

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Dear Secretary Researcher You-Know-Who,

That was, in fact, the shittiest picture of the arch I've ever seen. I would've assumed it was a poorly cropped image of an elbow if you had not told me it was actually the famous central arch of Inkinvuld temple. If you still want to kill me, I don't know if my condition worsening is good or bad news. Take this message as you will. It's hard to type. It's harder to type to you.

I remember too, by the way. Send me more pictures.

Regards, Senior Researcher You-Know-Who

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Dear Senior Researcher You-Know-Who,

The bells in the temple ring all hours of the night. Wind chimes that survived the blast, the remains of what didn't. I can hardly sleep, because it's like trying to tune out the most beautiful, melancholy symphony all the stars have to offer. I started sleeping on the roof of the spacer to get closer to it. (On the opposite direction from where Earth is, just to be that little bit much further away from you).

Wanting to kill you has nothing to do with the news of your sickness progressing. I'm sorry. I hate you, and I'm sorry. I wish you would live so I can kill you myself.

Regards, Secretary Researcher You-Know-Who