I haven't written to you in months. Mostly because I'd almost managed to forget how you caused some small, deep, wild part of my soul to take flight.
But of course, as was inevitable, I finally managed to be drawn back to your small world of black and white photos and lonely teenage girls who attempt to be as silver-tongued and distinctive as you, but alas, all sound alike.
I forgot how intriguing you've always been.
Thank goodness you've never known of this page, and never will, because my (literally) shaking fingers need somewhere to release this whirlwind of racing emotions.
Why did I try my hand at being different than those lonely bloggers. Why.
Because I thought I could succeed?
Because I am much too far away now to suffer any embarrassing consequences if my identity were discovered?
Because, try as I might, I can't resist the familiar warmth your rare gift of eloquence brings, even still?
Yes.
Because I hope you know it's me, and I also desperately hope you don't.
Because as much as I have always desired that you see past the girl in the desk across the aisle who shares your love of hand sanitizer, I have remained content with being the much safer, though lonelier...
... acquaintance.
It may be too late for anything but. Nevertheless, I know I will be unable to restrain the urge to return to the black and white photos until your words appear... this time for me.
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