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(from k to r, 11 Oct 1995)

Aww, Rosetta...write me back sometime? Let me know not all my messages are
being shattered into thousands of ones and zeros before they even get to

I'm feeling left out, left behind.  I know the Thursday cancelation was
just one of those things.  I know life's way too hectic.  I know we had
some times before schedules got so bad that were really beautiful.  I know
I worry too much.  I even know that I'm sort of a luxury item.

It's not so easy, you know,
being a luxury item
when you once had hopes
of becoming a staple.

[sorry.  I thought of that 'verse' a few days ago and its been in my head
ever since.  Unfortunately, staple is the only word that would fit.  Kind
of like earlobe]

But I don't know if anything's going to stop this semester from being a
repeat of last semester.  That's what my fear has always been.  From our
conversations a month ago I was more optimistic, hoping for, for- I don't
know, I guess I was just hoping.

It's so tough to hear from you, unless I happen to be talking to you
directly.  I've grown used to it, I guess, but not quite (obviously), and
I don't know if its just a facet of your relationship with me, or with
lots of other people as well.  But you almost never hit the 'r'eply key,
even when I was just hoping for a "Yeah I heard the pep band Tuesday.
Pretty off key, but lively as hell" or a random "Hi."

And when I do see you, it's usually with someone else there, and I never
know if their presence is usually a matter of choice, or convenience.  I
wonder just how far is it between uphill and down with all of that?  I
guess I wonder alot about you, and yours, and all I can do for now is

Is it because our time together slides its way so smoothly into seduction?
If that's the case, part of it is because I find so few minutes and hours
with you that I want to get to the level of communication that only touch
provides in that amont of time.  (Oh yeah, the "horny as a bedbug" and
"Rosetta making my toes curl more than anyone else ever" bits enter into
it too, but I'm not quite the sex maniac I make myself out to be.  I'm
capable of being around you and accomplishing the mundane neccesities of
life, school work and quiet conversation and whatever.  Honest.  Like
tonight, I was actually planning work, not trying to cram would've-been-
Thursday into Wednesday, scouts honor.)

I said I was willing to wait, but it was the uncertainty that was killing
me, and that's as true as it ever was.

I'm sorry- I wasn't expecting this to be so long.  I didn't mean to be so
melancholy.  I would have preferred to call you, but I didn't want to bug
you when you were homeworking...

Please let me know about this weekend?  I just talked to Mama Mia, and
remembered that Friday is the music department Parents' Concert.  My moms
NYC-bound pretty soon after the football game Saturday, though, so would
then be a possibility?  The idea of being able to spend hours with you,
from dinner 'til bedtime, touching and talking, letting tomorrow take care
of itself (and incidently, homework- or what on earth else are Sundays
good for?) laughing with the knowledge of being two people capable of
entertaining each other as only two young nubile hungry people-with-a-
history can, well, that's really something, y'know?  (With or without W.
Allen flick.) So much better than the thoughts of seeing you sucked away
by a twisting cloud of CS-15 and papers needing grading and starchy
Carmichael dinner--

	Talk to me.
	Talk to me?
	Talk to me...

		my sound to your fury

PS a poem, this one person (whose name I knew 'cause she was in
Wired magazine, doing some neat encryption-in-Mac-Graphics-Files
stuff...) sent me this sonnet that, well, you'll see--

Summer Sonnet

I could compare you to a summer day -
No! Summer's beautiful, but full of doubt,
He smiles sweetly, but he'll never stay,
And Summer's cash is always running out.
He laughs with me, then he turns and burns,
He's cold for weeks, then he'll change his mind -
Fair? No, unfair! Unaware of my concerns,
Gorgeous? Sure, but stupid, random, blind.
Dear, when you say you'll stay, you always will,
And when you change, you always give a reason,
You're too fierce for time or death to kill!
How could I compare you to a season?
You will shine, as constant as a star,
When this poem is forgotten; most poems are.

			--Romana Machado, 6/28/95

Well, I guess it was 'cause of:
here i am, i'm here
in my mind -- and yours, it seems.
don't hold me too dear,
many dreams
are unrealized.

life goes on in cambridge, massachusetts, usa, earth -- grass grows,
bananas rot, one runs out of tissues and cash.  cats shed.

Thu Jun 10 22:36:23 1993

(I was cleaning out old Allegro files, having gotten a stern "5-meg"
warning. ) I have no idea why your comment on summer cash should stick
with me all this time, but it was the first thing I thought of when I
read the poem.

I'm getting desperate again.

That's a kickbutt poem, a take off on Shakespeare's Summer Sonnet.

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