Before I say goodbye for the day, a quick letter, to somebody.
It would be remiss of me to think you would ever read this, or wish to understand, or give it your attention at all, and I would be fooling myself if I thought I wanted to return such attention.
Yet, when I see where your shadow used to be, I really do wonder how you are faring, how you take on each day, how you react to it, how it affects you. Maybe, in a way, that is love. and in that way, I love you for who you are.
But, perhaps it is not care- yes, words, I know. If I cared, truly, or... deeply. I would not be wondering, I would... know. likely firsthand. what is happening to you, how you are reacting, how it affects you.
I could have cared, or loved, in a way that was "right." a way that made you feel loved and that made me felt that I loved you. A way that made you feel cared for when I tried to care for you.
But alas, you, and today, and soon, this letter- will belong to the written part of my history. Tucked away in the library I roam to only when I subsumed by the need to look backward instead of forward.
Maybe life is bringing you fortune, perhaps it is bringing you misery. More likely, it is bringing you through an indistinct fog, with grey figures and blurred movements, with the mist closing in behind your trail as soon as you blaze it.
As I say goodbye to today, I wonder if you would come across this letter, I wonder if you would read about it, or react to it- if it would affect you.
I wonder if you would write a letter and leave it somewhere I could find it.
If you did, I would read it. I would react to it. I would let it affect me.
Love,