The writingz
Still I write, and continue to write all these unsent letters, propositions, confirmations, little delicacies of thought that you will never see. The calls become more separated, and I hold back, but it doesn't mean that every moment of every day I'm not roaring as I rip my hand away from the phone. I dream. I had a dream of you, and it was a wonderful haze of understanding and reality that we live in, and we were there, and we were alive, but still I dream of you. How does one respond when someone tells them "I don't think I am the best person for you" when all you can see of that person is through rose-colored glasses. But it is I who am inadequate, and see you as a prime example of a wonderful human being. An example of that which makes humanity great. It's not the riches or posessions, but the character of greatness. REAL greatness. Not the faces you see on TV or the names in the magazines, (although who is to say wether any of them are great at all) but the simple exibit of human greatness that you display. In the end, I suppose whatever happens, I just have to say thank you.