That’s another year’s orbit completed, my missing Satellite Boy. As you pass overhead, before you swing out again into all that cold, dark, distant matter, I hope you’ll look down and sweetly mock this sad attempt of mine to make do in a world-without-you. I’m doing my best, Henny, and most days that’s good enough; on other, less well-starred days, the hole is too deep, the wall too high, the hill too steep. That’s it, really: I suppose they’re just the usual, bastard confines of Planet Life, but I don’t think I’ll ever quite understand them without you here to explain. Say hello to Ursa Major for me and don’t forget to give Uranus a wide berth. Boy. My boy.
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