invisible_letter Dis Seventy-two hours to go. I'm so sorry, dear heart, for the cruel things I've said; how your sweetcream face must have twisted with each barb and thistle. See how the distance strains me? The endless longing, like a pebble in my shoe, chafes at my skin and abrades me to madness. I grow surly and angry, weary and frustrated; I turn like a faithless cur. And dogged is, indeed, how I feel, because I cannot let you go just yet (and the relentless desire for you is murder on the soul.) If I could take it all back, the slander I've let simmer, surely I would. Perhaps you'll forgive me. Perhaps it is not too late for kisses and smiles, laughter and reassurance. Let your soft brown eyes grow wide in adoration, a heady, adrenaline dilation. Let me show you how I've dreamed of you, how just a snapshot of your soft, dark hair can drive me to distraction. Steal me away from the rut where I lie. Hold me to you, be honest and kind. I cling to one memory, or sometimes two or three: You, beside me in the street; you, beside me in my bed; you, frozen in a photo, saying goodbye. When again you see me, will you let me take your hand? 010827 ... thieums I've used my keyboard so much that all the letters are gone. I don't want to change it, because I feel more secure now that noone can know which letters I use. 040413 what's it to you? who go blather from