May 16. Iraq. 18 years old.

Dear FutureMe, First deployment, I hope by the time you recieve this you'll have been on several more and have adjusted. This was the time where you had to make a really big choice. I hope you're happy with what I decide. If you aren't, then I hope you're finding silver-linings (and I hope you don't think our shitty 'silver lined clouds are filled with acid rain' line.). You're strong, and you're kind of awesome. Just drive on. You could be doing this dumb job again. And I hate it, so you must as well. I really can't see me later loving this experience. I want you to remember who stuck by you while you were out here. Remember the people back at home who helped you when things got dark and bad. Your parents. Skip. Katy. Most importantly, Sasha. I hope you've kept her around, and if something has happened, or does: remember Mahogany. remember Iraq. remember the deer. She's my bestfriend- OUR bestfriend. Stay strong, Adair, and don't ever stop writing. Even if we never finish a book, don't give it up. You know you're good, because I know I'm fucking fantastic. "You fail only if you stop writing". Shit happens, just roll with the punches. Don't let people knock you down, if you get your heartbroken: move on. Don't dwell on the mistakes that I've made. Life is too short. Live it.