I had the idea to write to you. Not like this has been something that has been brewing for a while. Today though, maybe because of the heat, the times of summer, I felt haunted by the specter of you. Everyone looked like you at first glance. I mentioned this to the guy I was on a job with and he was like, that cuz you still love her. Huh. Really?
Before you sigh and shut the computer, listen- or not, I don’t really have anything important to say. I am not an important person. Yet, I did know you and spent some time with you so I figure, you might be interested.
I just went for a run, the first in god knows when and while I was running I was thinking of what to say to you. And yet as I sit at this computer and type out some words to you, I am at a loss. I don’t know if I should be nostalgic, bitter, happy or depressive. What do you think?
How can I bring this white page to life? So you think, yippee? Depends on how close you want to get. Granted I’m in the dark here just bubbling around. Maybe crazy experiences have happened, maybe you have just aged. Maybe you got on the boat, or not. Kind of like microphone feedback. Something dangerous or just boredom. Is that how you want to be treated?! Are we animals?! Can’t we get to the next movement. Where is the creative, the artist, you on the late night programs. Man, how can I be like them? I thought the deck was stacked and yet, and yet, emptiness. Close to eating bread with a spoon. I, uh, don’t understand. But it feels good to hear from you. What, may I ask you are doing with yourself?
I go nuts for donuts so to speak. He just sort of lays there. He had so much potential. What does he do with his time? He spends money he doesn’t have and on what? I haven’t heard from him in a while. He has anxiety I know that, probably should go to therapy but is caught up with the societal taboos. Not on social media much. An odd fellow. Probably autistic. Does it reflect poorly on me that I dated an autistic guy? Sorry I know that is a bad thing to say.
Well, it is my stop, I better go. I’m not on the subway, my fingers are just sticky.