Hi. We haven’t spoken in a while. For this I apologize.
Well, I mean, I know we’ve spoken… but it’s more of a business now and less of a relationship. I call you when I need you, but you hardly ever just show up to be with me. I use your help with papers, and articles, and five.minute.anydays, but no real writing.
We haven’t written a story in ages.
The last drabble I wrote was in the thin air of Colorado, and I feel the piece was even more frail than the atmosphere up on that hill.
It’s like I stopped contacting you so often, saying that I was busy, and I had things to do, and we’d catch up later, when I wasn’t so occupied. But I’m always busy now, and now that I’m looking back I was busy before as well. The only thing is that I talked myself out of spending any time with you.
That was a dumb decision. Now that I’ve realized how much I need you, you’re not around. It’s like you decided that I’m not good enough for you and now you have other friends and compadrés and buds and aficionados and I’m just kind of here, waiting for you to see me, standing in the doorway and leaning against it like I’m independent and I can survive without you.
You can survive without me, I can tell.
But I can’t. I—my personality, my essence, my being—am wrapped up in you.
I need you, even if you don’t need me.
I know I haven’t been the perfect host. But please, won’t you consider coming back? I miss you like I miss the sun at midnight. You’re just a dream, and I can only remember how beautiful you were.
Grace my days again?