as i read the words i believe your typing, i can't help but wonder if that's not another pair of eyes behind yours reading my responses. and while i continue to wonder if maybe this is my- "poor me i'm always the victim" response- i try not to listen to myself. i replied as i meant it.
this leaves us in a spot where we've often found ourselves, we know we miss what once was, but aren't sure how to find the balance between our connected souls and seperate lives. and now after ragging on those close to me for being in conctact with you- perhaps just jealousy of not being able to make it work for myself, i feel silly and can only question: is that hate i've built inside of me?
while i question your motives- and mine: i feel relieved and joyful that what was written was sent back and forth. i smile in remembering your passion and sit contently. if nothing else, it was art.