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usual post-mortem ramble. (from k to r, 23 Dec 1995)

Luckily, the zipper of my coat broke on my way home, so I spent time
fiddling with that, and didn't spend *too* much time racking my brain.

I thought it was kind of funny, and sad, how much you weigh on my mind,
when we never were that much to begin with, you never acting as if you
could find that 'ineffable something' in me.  I always felt like I was
more of a... passing fancy, I guess.  And now, with the end of school fast
approaching, I'm unlikely to ever even be that again.  That hits me,
maybe even more than all the other end-of-school landmarks.

Your touch, your kiss, your beauty, your conversation, even the way you
would seem to find reasurrance in my scent, I'm going to spend a long time
looking for their equals.

But I wish you and him well, and hope you find "love, the actual thing,
now and, possibly, forever"

Is that unfair quoting old un-love letters back at someone?

Still, it hurt when you cut me off without a word why.
It hurts when I realize I may never be kissed by you again.
Hurts when we never found that ineffable something.

She says ''Maybe these emotions are
As near to love as love will ever be''
So I agree

Then the moon breaks
She takes the corner that's all she takes
She moves on

yours in ineffable somethings and passing fancies,


ps I just looked at the price on the back of my little notebook. Only
$2.50 from Pier-one.  Nyah.

pps I was going to end with my usual "write back?" but then I
realized I wasn't even sure what I was hoping to hear.  I'd still love to
hear from you anyway, let me know if you think of something...

ppps ...maybe to wish me luck with the german chick?

pppps and don't you dare just write a one liner "good luck with the
german chick"!!!

ppppps I'm being silly.  Write whatever the hell you want.

pppppps I've missed you.
The German chick! (deep in the postscripts.) She came to visit it me over Near Years, 1995-1996, in NYC. (We went to the heart of Times Square for the ball drop.) That was strange. Though I had longed for her for some years, by the time she re-admits to feelings for me and comes to visit, I'm over her.

I'm quoting a Paul Simon song below, from Rhythm of the Saints, the "She moves on" paragraphs.

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