And you know, there's something really liberating about putting your thoughts down and sending them out and not being able to take them back. I think you're probably reading this and thinking that I'm significantly weirder deep down inside than you'd thought, and that's all right because it's the truth. But maybe you don't care and you've already thrown this away and you'll toss any other ones I send out with the junk mail, unopened. And that'd be okay too. It's not the reading that counts; it’s the writing.
There are two boxes full of letters in Eames's desk drawer. The ones he receives from Arthur, and the ones he wishes he could send in reply.