It isn’t smart for me to contact you in any capacity. I know that. But how often do I act smartly?
I have no news, no message, nothing to offer. I have only the observation that I still think of you. By living life on full volume I tried to drown out the music of our memories. But there you are, mining your way into my thoughts at the extreme moments. When I am happy, I think of you. Are you happy, too? When I hurt, I think of how you would soothe me in a way no one after you has mastered. When life is a puzzle, when life is a portrait, as if you wait for me at each end of every emotional scale.
At once, you awoke my passion. Now, my passions seem to awaken you. I feel safe telling you this, as it is neither good, nor bad. It is a phenomenon, like the happenings of a star; who among us can pass moral judgement on a star, be it burning or collapsing? I don’t know if you wanted or even cared to know. I wanted to tell someone. Since I’ve abandoned the filling of journals, you will serve that purpose today. My journal: a greenhouse to collect the droplets of my thoughts. Gather them up and hold them for my retrieval. Protect them from what threatens to vanish them forever.