I Can See Clearly Now…*

img_0250I am pretty sure you sometimes forget what you’ve told me. I asked lots of questions. You never asked enough. You were always quite candid and generous and thorough in your responses. I have a memory like an elephant; it’s both a blessing and a curse. Most of your stories, things you’ve shared, are burned onto my brain. That’s all that’s left. Mostly the good now. The vault is locked as promised. I’m not buying the “fiction”  though ;-). You are very nostalgic. Unrequited love from long ago? Have you forgotten what you’ve told me? I’m kidding. Makes absolutely no matter to me. I’m happy you’re writing creatively. It’s my favorite. Can we be friends again someday? There will perennially be book mail. That’s a mouthful!

* Fiction. I make stuff up. You all should know that about me. I’m really talking to myself. That’s what I do. Sometimes it’s lonely. Sometimes it’s therapeutic and cathartic.

A Weak 3

So I told you about a typo. You’re probably too busy to care, but I decided to tell you anyway.

I’m doing well. It’s been a great start to 2017 with the exception of this small display of weakness. I can usually convince myself not to write because you won’t read it anyway. So what’s the point? And it usually works. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.

Good thing you’ll never know. Almost makes me feel better for always being the weak one.

Damn It: Two

“The Sense of an Ending is going to be a movie.” That’s all it said and only in the subject line.

It is still another one, though.

We loved the book. It looks so, so good from the trailer! I wanted to tell you even knowing you won’t know from me because you won’t get the memo.

This is the part I miss.

One- A Weak Moment

It was a few weeks ago. It was only a “Subject Line”. No body. Nothing. But it is still considered “one” in my mind, the first one. I am kind of hating myself for it even knowing you will never know. I do. It was a mere eight words (I think, because I can’t even recall anymore.). It was about a book; I do remember that much including the book it meant. You would love it, too. Only you. No one else I know would appreciate it as much as I did, and you would. There’s not a lot of things I know for sure. About you. This, though, is one of them. Maybe I will send it at some point. Maybe you will read it some day. Or maybe you will send it back “Return to Sender”? Don’t do that. I would rather you donate it to your library or to someone who needs a special book or whatever. Just know the content is more than a wee bit s-p-i-c-y. Not that I’m saying you like spicy or any such thing ;-).  It’s more for its poetic form than anything else. And the love story it is. Just keep it and read it. Please.

P.S. I have the best Christmas present book you’ll never get too. Of course I already had it long before. It’s important to pick things up for people when the wind is blowing just right.

P.P.S. She’s dating someone now. No back alley brawling needed anymore. It’s a few months new(-ish). But the reason I’m telling you is he lent her his copy of his most favorite book. Blood Meridian. You see; they are both readers. I told her of a solid resource to help with her resulting confusion.

That is all. There won’t be another. Although today, I did backspace my way completely out of “two”. Phew.

 

Zero

The number of times I’ve written. Not once! Zilch. Surprised? I know you’re not anything because you have no way of knowing I haven’t. Well, I haven’t. True life. And I am not even surprised myself. Habits take 21 days/times to break. Or so I’ve heard. I hope. If I’m honest, the permanence is fucking killing me.