kathy stonehenge 2_cropped - toned




Dearest K,

        This is how I handle these epileptic fits. I have locked myself in my office so that I can “fall on” your letter.

        Your anxiety about my haunting you stabs my heart. I would never hurt you in any way. I didn’t just “simply write you directly” because I could not find you! I was sure that someone as intelligent and as gregarious as you would be found through deeds or opinions (no Facebook? So you remain ahead of me to this day).

        “Between the Letters” was about you, make no mistake. I repeat that your 17-year old incarnation had volumes to say that resonated, as I knew it would, with male and female readers, but especially women. I assure you that your casual “adolescent ramblings” smite sparks of truth to this moment. For God’s sake, the numbers of “views” for that posting are second only to my Index, and closing fast since I reposted a link. LOL, I am still second to you in intellectual illumination and interest. What could “I” be between those letters except a geek, OK, say “dreamer”?

        Ask your lawyer friends if the US Post Office, a department of the US Government, doesn’t recognize me as the owner of those letters (LOL, remember the movie “Miracle on 42nd Street”?)

        Forgiveness is in order: those stories are the best of what remains of me, love ‘em or leave ‘em, and I would forgo gladly every other moment of my life except the extraordinary time I spent with you. You must laugh, but everyone soon annoys me and I really am a typical guy when it comes to tolerating the oblique talk of women. But I always could listen to you endlessly. I have never met anyone like that since.

        I feared being thought a stalker. That would align with all the disappointments. I thought by being humorous / goofy / light handed / deferential / cautious (chose one?) I wouldn’t kill the gossamer creature inside me that I return to more and more.

        That shows how lost in time I am, right?

        I could not find you anywhere in cyberspace except at your high school website. I could not “enter” there but I was able to leave sad little messages.

        I even sought your old fiancé. By the way, I got even with him in one story in particular “I Have Never Been”, but I was just jealous.

        Finally, only recently, it dawned upon me that you discussed your older sister at great length and she was the thread that lead me to you. She took me to the funerals of your parents, and I am so sorry, K, you have to know, I really liked them the one time we met.

        Anyway, in the obituary I deduced your current situation. Please ask you husband to forgive me as I honestly tried to approach him through LinkedIn. I would not have responded to me, either!

        My letter caused you a “myriad of emotions”? I have wondered when your prophesy would be fulfilled:

Promise me you’ll never stop writing – please Allen.

Some day we’ll be together again.

We’ll probably be embarrassed and not know what to say at first.

But everything is so worth the effort.

..and fearing that the truth in this world would crush the pearl in my oyster.

        Your initial trepidation and remorse about my (supposedly final) attempt to connect with you is causing me aftershocks of sadness. Were you truly angry? Did you actually think I would mock you, or for God’s sake, exploit you??

        You said good-bye with respectful affection once before. Did you really expect me not to write back? I am certainly not hiding anything. I understand how odd this is and I wish I could assure your husband that this is just a chemical imbalance in me (“perhaps a bit of undigested potato”, LOL). You are at the very least a Muse.

        I have thought about this moment for so long I am not sure how to assimilate it just yet. Thank you for caring enough to write back.

        Au revoir






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