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Dear You,

You, who still calls me, "you", (just as you always did, soft and lilting, as if we were beyond the need for names) one of the last tattered trappings of an intimacy worn thin over too much distance, too much silence... once upon a time, I dreamed I knew you. And maybe, upon waking, that dream wasn't quite what I'd imagined. To see you now, exactly the same as you always were, it seems impossible that we should be strangers, yet even more improbable that we ever were beyond that. I wish I knew you. I wish I'd known you - I think I always wanted to, meant to. You were so charming, so effortless with everyone... but I wanted behind the music, I wanted all-access. And maybe I didn't end up with a laminate, but I like to think I hung out backstage for a bit. Its just not the same now, maybe I'm spoiled, maybe I'm too used to getting my way (maybe that's the same thing?) but I can't bear to watch the show from GA with the rest of the unwashed masses.

I can't always have what I want (possibly because half the time I don't know what that is) I'm well aware of this, and sometimes what I want doesn't exist outside my overactive imagination. Maybe this is all there is. Maybe knowing you really was a dream... even that lilting "you", who am I to say if it was ever meant just for me, or if it just felt that way. Maybe we've reached a point where friendship is a silly, girlish notion. Then again, everything about me was silly and girlish when I was around you. Maybe I haven't grown up so very much in the interim? I don't know, I don't know... maybe I did.

I think I make you nervous these days, and I wish that weren't so. If I were a little stronger, a little surer of myself, I would set you at ease. I would be the one to reach out, offer my hand, and fly us up & out of our stifling, safe little spot. But the truth is, for all my grand talk, I'm scared to death. And this, this open letter of sorts, is about as far up as my happy thoughts can carry me (and I'm still white knuckling the bedpost). I took my time, I've risen this far on my own, and this is where I am. And even if you never see this, even if I'm just talking to myself, I know I put it out there. I may make a better Wendy than a Tink, (I always knew as much) but you know I do believe in faeries, I do. I do.


Never & Always,
me