Dear Iris,

I love you.

Every fiber of my being loves you.

Speed is a beautiful thing; I have time to write this to you. I know: it's dirty play to use my Speed when you don't know it. Sorry.

Scratch that. I'm not sorry. I'm relieved.

I wish I could bring you to this space of perfect stillness. Do you know how beautiful stillness is? I never appreciated it before. Our lives move so fast; it's hard to find. It's like seeing color for the first time. It's a sumptuous meal. It's the way I feel when I run. The world isn't my oyster, but the world is listening to me, Iris.

It's listening to you, too. But there's a lot of noise out there. A lot of distractions.

So I want you to do me a favor, Iris West. (Allen.)

I want you to run. Run as fast and as far as you can. Run until your lungs are ready to burst. Run until your legs won't stand. Run like it's the last thing you'll ever do. Run till you laugh. Run till you cry.

Run, Iris: because it is where you will find stillness. It is where you will find peace.

It is where I will be.

Listen for me in the stillness.

I'll be listening to you.

All the love in the world is still not enough, but you have all of mine, Iris.

I love you, honey.

I love you so much.

I would spend every day of the rest of my life with you if I could.

But I have to do this. I don't know for how long. Forever is too long. Let's just say for – a while.

Wake up tomorrow. Wake up the day after that. Do so without expectation. Do so with enthusiasm and know that I am listening. I am here; I am as near as you want me to be. Run fast, and you'll hear it.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I'm coming home.

Someday.

Yours,

Barry West-Allen.