[ Those words draw a genuine, tender smile on Alberto's face, the warmth of which reaching his eyes, even tilting his head a little. It's a touching sentiment. That's all he wants. He goes out on a limb, and it's the first time admitting this to someone — well, someone who's not a cat, because there's totally a magic talking cat wandering around out there with a lot of sensitive information about Alberto, but, well, he's a cat — but it feels like this guy would get it... and in fact, it feels appropriate, since this is kind of how they came to meet in the first place, so it's a big admission for the child: ]

Yeah. Heh, I hope so. Y'know— I've still been writing letters to Luca. Here, I mean. We wrote letters all the time back home after he moved away, but... I figure, I dunno, maybe someday they'll let us send letters home somehow. I mean, if they can bring a whole person here, they can send a piece of paper back, hah...! Like, maybe once our way back home is strong enough or something, they can test it out like that! I dunno how this stuff works, but— at least I can still talk to Luca this way, sort of, even if he can't talk back... Heheh, y'know?

[ It's a very sheepish admission, but a sweet one — something very telling about the boy's character. But once again: something very bittersweet, too. The kid's probably a lot lonelier than he lets on. That's some serious dedication to a weak pipe dream, indulging in this fantasy for catharsis more than any actual probability he'll ever send these letters... It's not quite delusional, just... innocent and hopeful and a little bit sad. But, indeed, sweet all the same. ]