I keep all your letters.

I read your poetic magic over late at night when everyone is sleeping and I'm even more alone than usual. I read it over and I pretend you're sitting in front of me and I pretend that I could lean over and kiss you. I pretend that it could be that easy.

I don't make any bets on how our relationship would be. all I can bank on is the passion. I told Shelby last night that we'd either fuck or kill eachother, because nothing with us is ever median. No gray area, just black or white.

I've never met anyone who makes me as crazy as you do, in a way where I feel like I've been completely seduced intellectually. You just open your mouth and beauty falls out of it, and I am, as I always have been, amazed by you. I am amazed by how laid back you are about such serious things, while you rage over nothing at all. I'm amazed by how nothing you create is anything short of a masterpiece, and its effortless. But most of all, I guess, I'm amazed that you've even looked twice at me.

Right now we're floating in a comfortable convenient nothing relationship, an acknowledgment of feelings but nothing else. Somehow we've pulled through somewhat attached. Its crazy and sick and its tormenting and cruel to have you so close but hundreds of miles away, but somehow we're making it. I don't even know if you could label what we share as anything other than fleeting. But I still find myself waiting up for you at night to get home from work and bless me with your poetry, regardless.

Maybe it will never get the chance to be all we want it to be. Maybe we started something that we can never fully consummate. But none of that really matters to me right now, because you're still part of my life, you still give me something to think about and inspire me. No matter what happens in the future, I know I'm happy now. As silly and naive as that might make me, I'm happy now.

Love,