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Thank you for the time spent. It was the final straw here. I had forgotten what intellectual stimulation felt like. I read your letter last night. It starts "I never write letters like this..."



It makes me smile.

How is it possible, that from this many miles away, I still turn beat red when I think that I am out of your favor. I wish sometimes that you were more prone to fantasy. I lock little hopes in the back of my mind that you might, even on the smallest level, habour thoughts similar to my own.



I know that it is fantasy, but that fantasy has kept me warm and smiling inwardly on more than one occasion.



You wrote me a letter once that spoke of a lack of trust in you. It was not that simple. I was overwhelmed by you, as I still am, and mortified of embarrasing myself. I, however, seem doomed to embarrass myself.