Dear heart
It has been oh, so long since I wrote you a letter - one of the good ones, the ones with the little new turns of phrase I love, the ones I spend at least two days writing in my head before I even think of putting the words where I can see them.
I've needed someone to talk to really badly, and much to my chagrin discovered that you were the only one I actually felt comfortable telling. Let's be frank, babe. There's no doubt that the comfort levels are entirely my doing. I would probably feel easy in my mind about writing long personal letters to almost anyone, all I need to do is invest them with some imagined interest in my wellbeing.
I wrote this letter out the whole of today, and as usual, it sounded much much better in my head. Heads are good places to be when you need to feel sorry for yourself. Also when you need some sympathy. My head is my friend.
I wish I could still write you real letters. *sigh* I wish many things, almost all of them pointless and stupid. I just felt a lot better when there was a real person at whom I could ramble.
The fact is that things have changed. They do. People change. Relationships change. It's all a series of meanderings and I need constants somewhere. I think the best way is to continue to write you without expectations of replies, perhaps because I won't ever be sending you any of the letters I write.
Self therapy is all very well, but when you've had a taste of something better, you tend to see what's missing more than what's actually there.
That's the end of this one.
I'll definitely be adding more.
All my love always
T
It has been oh, so long since I wrote you a letter - one of the good ones, the ones with the little new turns of phrase I love, the ones I spend at least two days writing in my head before I even think of putting the words where I can see them.
I've needed someone to talk to really badly, and much to my chagrin discovered that you were the only one I actually felt comfortable telling. Let's be frank, babe. There's no doubt that the comfort levels are entirely my doing. I would probably feel easy in my mind about writing long personal letters to almost anyone, all I need to do is invest them with some imagined interest in my wellbeing.
I wrote this letter out the whole of today, and as usual, it sounded much much better in my head. Heads are good places to be when you need to feel sorry for yourself. Also when you need some sympathy. My head is my friend.
I wish I could still write you real letters. *sigh* I wish many things, almost all of them pointless and stupid. I just felt a lot better when there was a real person at whom I could ramble.
The fact is that things have changed. They do. People change. Relationships change. It's all a series of meanderings and I need constants somewhere. I think the best way is to continue to write you without expectations of replies, perhaps because I won't ever be sending you any of the letters I write.
Self therapy is all very well, but when you've had a taste of something better, you tend to see what's missing more than what's actually there.
That's the end of this one.
I'll definitely be adding more.
All my love always
T
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