Letter to ____ II

Hottie,

Hi! To write this piece, I had to change the music. I needed to break the static sadness that governs us all.

You called me twice today, before morning was born. Like it was, when we were a secret. When we had sultry afternoons. Set to motion by air-conditioned inertia. Shall I tell you the truth, love? I miss missing you. What I most miss are those fingers, intertwined with mine as we filled up the blanks between the lines of our palms and spoke of silences. They were very sexy afternoons -- youthful and stealthy. I loved how you dealt with your many phone calls, mostly rejecting many and lying to others.

I never thought a day would come when I would not take your call. I was your at-your-beck-and-call person. I sincerely loved you. And there is no fancier language in which I can reword it. But, I did. I miss you still, sometimes. I think of you, often. I wish the best for you, always. And I do all of that for just one reason -- you. And that I loved you. I come into your picture, however, only with reasons. It is terribly and incredibly sad.

Time came to a fantastical standstill of time-tripping. With you. I sit here now, working in an imposed sense of purpose. How can I possibly forget those afternoons. You made me cry. You still do. Yet, I can't come to terms to accepting that I hate you, Perhaps, I never can. I don't really need to. I don't see us return to any of those sultry afternoons. It is a new year after all. And of course it can't have us.

We moved on, away, with each other. And yes, you are again addressed as the dash that you had a problem with. But it is time I did it my way. 

Like I caressed your hair, and bit your earlobes and loved you forever.

Missing you impossibly,

K.