I never had a chance to say goodbye. Matters were dire, time was short, and while you stayed, I needed to leave. You gave me so much to survive, and so much of that was lost forever. I haven't felt sorry - we only did what we could and had to - until I realized I've lost the tome you entrusted to me.
But at that point it was just me and the cloak. I remember how it felt, to hurtle through the void between the stars, as the void nibbled at the pale stars over my skin and my calcified flesh. The cloak - a cheap replica - came undone the moment I touched ground, and I returned to true life.
I miss you, old friend.
We've known each other for aeons. Time is... not an exact metric here. I did my best to keep in touch, to send you a message, a letter, a missive whenever an opportunity arose. Once a subjective year, I think? It matters little. I have never known whether you received any of my pleas, let alone bothered to respond.
The existence we live in is so empty, with points where life can exist few and far in between, like these alien stars in the night sky. But these places shine bright, and whenever I looked up, I remembered you're probably somewhere out there, that you might have forgotten me long ago, but I would never forget you. With these memories akin to a sun in my chest, the world is orders of magnitude more bright and full.
Today, I received a parcel with your - our - cloak. I hope I will see you soon.