You've been painting a lot more. It's good. There should be things you live for other than me. Things that make it worth getting up in the morning.

[It's strange, maybe. This isn't at all how he thought this night was going to end up, and yet...there's something oddly cathartic about this conversation. It's a sad conversation, and a frightening one, but it's better than pretending that separation isn't a possibility until long after it's too late.]

In my room, there's a book. A notebook. If I disappear, find it and read it. It's about you. And take all my clothes, if I even have any left that you haven't already stolen by then. And...

[He quiets.]

Remember...how much I liked being close to you. Remember that to me, you were always warm.