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Long rambling letter redux, part1 (from k to r, 22 Nov 1995)

Sorry.  I wasn't originally planning to write another one of these, but
maybe it's time.  I had a lot of things I come to the surface when I
thought I was going to be able to spend time, pizza, Sam Adams with you,
and if I don't get some of them out they might start to burn in me over
the break-- You said you wanted to write me back a longer letter before,
maybe sometime during the holiday you can find the time to answer.

So my biggest worry in September, that this fall was going to fall like
autumn junior year came to pass, a begining full of wonder and beauty
ends up with no supporting middle, just a sad sort of end.

I didn't know why it happens this way, though I'm working on some of my
infamous theories to figure it out--

You edit me out of your life without comment, without much of anything.
You said you were too busy, which was probably true, your schedule was
absolutely stupifying.  But it felt like there was so much potential
between us, built up like that giant spark generator at the Science
Museum- I don't understand why it all just stopped, or how it could
just slip away.

Those times seemed so beautiful, so absolutely good, and right.  You act
like they never were at all.  I don't understand.

I feel like I was just wiped clean out of your life.  The time you invited
Zack to join you up in your room for studying- I don't know. I guess what
stings is that you never found time like that for me, ever, even when your
awful schedule got less all-consuming, even after all that happened at
the end of the summer, even after walking with you, and talking about a
concept of us, and you sounding like you saw as much potential and beauty
as I did.

I asked you to tell me if it everything was over, and it probably is and
you never did.  It looks like you've found another.  And you find time to
visit him.

You said you would never let yourself have the same relationship twice,
and I guess

[my doorbell just rang for no reason at all, got stuck because of the
cold or something.  fate has the potential to be kind of cruel, when I'm
writing a letter like this and I think you might be downhill.]

and I guess you decided to stick to your guns.

I don't know.  I don't know what happened.  I don't know what failed to
happen.  I made a point of not trying to force my way into your life, not
changing dining halls, not stopping by, not starting any foolish romantic
games like flowers and notes, not trying to seduce you with words; I knew
you can sometimes be protective of your time and space.  I don't know if I
could I have done something that would have brought me nearer to you.
Could I have?  Why were you so silent?  Was there any question about how
I felt?  What happened this September, why did all visits stop?

Do I mean anything to you?

Nights like tonight kill me, just like that Thursday killed me.

I long to talk with you.  I long to touch you.  I long for your company.

Now it looks like I may never have any of that.

I know it's not fair for me to blame you for finding someone else.  I
know it doesn't even make sense for me to make sentences like that last
one.  But you have always been so silent, so deadly silent.  Your silence
let me have hope when I guess there wasn't any.

But now what I start to realize is I never meant as much to you as a
hundred other people do in your life.  Maybe it was always like this, but
I'm really slow to admit to myself.
Why do I harp on Sam Adams so much? Yeesh. Though then it was a very hip beer.

Kind of a melancholy little note.


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