Maybe I looked forward to the summer just a little too soon. You're always coming and going but ultimately going and I should have seen this coming back when we first started making our plans. I'll tell myself that next year is okay, but we've both seen the rate I'm cutting so-called friends out of my life. If you make it 'til December, things might be okay. I hope you make it.
I just found some fiction I was working on a while ago. I thought I'd deleted it but reading over it, I'm glad I hadn't. I might add more to it.
I didn't want bad memories attached to last August, but we made them and okay, maybe not we, maybe just me, and I'm sorry. I've been over this with her. But this year, if I make it through, I want to relive New York in London. This August could be the best thing in the world if I keep my mouth shut and if you don't break my heart. Just you and me, okay?
But I think you've got it.
Maybe that's the only reason I'm trying again. But you haven't been around much lately, as far as I can tell. I hope you'll be back with what's left of my thoughts.
