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Summary
My dear jason,
You're gone. I can't say this out loud, can't even write it. Yet, I still picture you in my head, every night, every second of my time, your… corpse. I never realized how small you were, but in my arms you seem so… tiny. I wish I could hold you in my arms longer, so that your warmth would never end. You were so… cold. So… unlively. I don’t know what to do. Is there even anything I can do? None of this makes sense anymore, Batman, Robin, Gotham. Maybe I lost my mind.
— Bruce Wayne lost his son. He writes to him.