You beautiful boy, I was just thinking of you by accident. I was reading and I stumbled upon pages of E.E. Cummings' poetry, little notes I'd made to myself with stanzas I loved, and one reminded me of you (since you've been gone). Since I know that the punctuation kills you, I will put it as though it were a paragraph, and probably poetry lovers will shriek, but probably, conversely, I won't care.
"Your homecoming will be my homecoming. My selves go with you; only I remain: a shadow phantom effigy (or seeming), an almost someone who's no one -- a no one who, till their and your returning, spends the forever of his loneliness dreaming their eyes have opened to your morning, feeling their stars have risen through your skies."
I read that and went to write to you, so I sat here at my computer and I thought, "Maybe he's home." Knock on wood, dear boy, but the universe likes to keep you close when I want you close. So when I am at my limit and you are supposed to be far gone, sometimes you come back, and when I think of you sometimes it's as though I've summoned you out of thin air. And look -- there you are. Welcome home, my odd little cookie, my singular love.