It’s been a week since I got your letter.
Never thought that you’d write me a letter, and never thought that I’ll be typing another letter to you here.
　
I can’t say that it’s a busy week, but it’s a freaky week indeed. At least to me.
And I’m still acclimatising my new life style, my mood, my thought, and avalanche with memories.
I’m still fragile.
Or, maybe I have always been.
　
I wish that when I can write you back, the girl who write is the one that even get hurt, but still can get on to be ready to fight again.
　
I know she’s still there, but just so tired and go to hide for a while.
I whish she can be back soon.