I haven’t written to you in days, and I must say that it’s because I’ve forgotten to keep my commitment to myself. I’ve, in the same fashion as I usually deny myself the satisfaction of being the exact thing that I’m looking for outside of myself, neglected to express myself to you in written form. As poetic as I wish I were, I cannot be half the man I want to be for you if I don’t practice being just that for myself.

Anyhow, I’m back to the thought process of giving you correspondence like a pen pal in a distant land, and although this is could be the case at the moment, you could very well be reading this as I script it from my mind to this platform. I love the mysteriousness of our connection, and how vividly opaque the point of view of it can be. Look with me to the possibility that I’m more than  words on a page. I’m your friend, relative, co-worker or yourself.

I know it’s hard to come back to the reality of the matter and think about this point when commonly we associate personification to any and every grouping of words that from a cohesive frame of mind. Sentences are something like kisses; statements of affection; reverberation of thoughts into physicality. I want to make it clear that I’m not making a reference that I see us making out over this exchange of paragraphs, but I am hoping you take it into consideration.

Moreover I want to get across there aren’t any thoughts in my writing that I feel would be expressed out loud without being prewritten, and even then I would think too much to express them vocally the way I had intended when I first penned them. However I would attempt to be as close to original authenticity as possible.

People can be fickle in heart and in deed. I am my own example of this. I’ll write you again. How soon depends on the organization of the universes that are surrounding and incorporating my existence. If you feel i’m displaying absence in any way inform me gently with a comment… or twelve.


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