I keep getting my wires crossed with strangers on this website. It’s sweet, but silly. It has made me go back and forth on whether or not the familiarity I occasionally read is a shadow of you, projected into the content by my wishful thinking. I thought this until last week. And then . . . that last letter was, well… enough. I am nearly convinced but I’m frustrated. I think you might be too. So, I have a solution.
It’s one week before I start being really busy again, for the next month or so. Cyclical jobs do that. I will give one hour of every weekday this week to hang out up the road from my house, on the hill. Just drive up it, past the residential area. Keep going up. A quarter mile up there is a parking area off to the right. I will be there every weekday the week after this letter posts, from 2 to 3 (in the afternoon, if that wasn’t obvious). I will be there, listening to music, enjoying the view. Will you?
Perhaps this is ridiculous, but I don’t know what else to do. We aren’t saying anything. We aren’t doing anything. I love you and I’d like to say it to your face. I can’t do that unless we’re alone. And it appears that we can’t really be alone because nobody is asking for it. So, this is me, just doing it. Trying to make it as painless as possible. If you have been here, I want to talk about it but I won’t ask for it out there.
I’m prepared to feel my heart break if you don’t show. But, hey, do me a favor? tell me if you can’t do it. No reasons are necessary. (I’ll be ignoring any responses that do not identify themselves well enough.)
I hope those of you reading on have enjoyed reading about my trip to crazy-town.