Thank you ever so much for responding back. I know times have been, well, not easy, but we will pull through. I can't lie; the red river and toxic air are starting to nag at my innards. No matter how much blood I see, I still think of you, of what you said.

"It's going to be all right, love. They'll lose their appetite eventually."

That piece of hope still ensnares me. I do hope you are doing well, though. Everything is growing darker day by day. We are prohibited to go outside anymore. Too dangerous. But I still sneak my way to the mailbox. For you. After awhile I stopped receiving letters from you. No worry, I still have managed to find communication with you.

Even though your stamps are proving to be heavily outdated, I still anticipate that rusted orchid on the top right hand corner of your envelopes. The orchid helps me know that there was a past before all this tragedy. Your stamps, delivered with your message, paints more hope into my doubting brain of hunger and peril.

Darling, I can't lie, I'm growing more frightened every day. All the moaning coming from outside of our windows, I don't dare look out. Last time I stole a glance I saw… it shouldn't even be uttered. I witnessed a baby's corpse being dragged by his mother who was limping severely and vomiting so many fluids. Everyone else is scared here too. But I keep reminding them, "They'll lose their appetite eventually."

Darling, when is eventually?

With great love throughout all the grey in this damned world,