Slence...

I have nothing to say today.

So I will say nothing.

And that says it all I think.

Guilt...

"Hello...

I didn't think you'd reply. I think I hoped you wouldn't. No, that's heartless of me. Lets pretend everything dandy. I'm fine, thanks for asking. You asked how everybody is. A little vague, you mean the family? Want the truth? I thought not. They are all fine, then.

Yes, it has been a while. What? Did you expect me to start writing weekly after you went in? Would that have pleased you, well, sorry, I didn't. Why should I have? To make you happy. Forgive me, I should have done that ages ago, shouldn't I.

God forgive me for not making YOU happy.

Oh, you miss the world. The drink, you mean? Or the world in general? You miss the others. I bet you do! Forget it. You're such an idiot! Jerk. Oops, I'm SORRY, did I upset you???

T.L.J"

Wow, proud of myself babe! I never thought I'd have the fortitude to write that out, let alone envelope it, carry it the twelve meters down the road to the corner, and put it in the box. But I did.

I was so angry, SO ANGRY! My blood was beating when I wrote it, and my hand was shaking. God, I feel so guilty.

Hasn't he got enough to...No. I am not going down that line. He deserved what he got. I should read his letter over and over and work myself back into a rage. i can't let myself feel guilty. What did I do? Nothing. Nothing!

I just have to think of his face. His red hair laughing at me. And the smile on his lips. What did I ever see in that man. Stupid. It's all stupid.

I have nothing to feel guilty about.

I'm going for a walk. Find some peace, meditate, close my mind to this whole damn mess.

Letter...

I opened it. Ripped back the thin tape from the course envelope, and pulled the letter out with my fingers. It was only half a sheet, lined paper. Thank God.

I'm going to read it now. Ready?



I'm back! And I am ANGRY! Bloody, stupid man!!!

"Hi...How are you Hows everybody. are they ok?

Thanks for, writing. It's been a while since. Yeah. Since.

I miss you too. Miss that world, everything it holds. Sometimes. I sometimes miss the world, but I more miss you. And the others, of course.

Will you reply soon?"

He didn't even sign it. He's so....stupid! He never cared. Never. Oooh, I HATE him!!!

Why did I START all this again!!! I HATE me too! God.

Not...

"Not." That is what I am telling myself with finality about once an hour right now.

I am not opening any letter. And I am not anxious to read the contents. And I do not care. At all. Not even the teeniest little bit. Well, a little.

Certainly, enough to open the damn drawer, and shove the photoalbum to one side. Lucky that I did so, because the bulky thing knocked a pile of glossy pamphlets spilling onto the carpet, and that did it. I bent hurriedly to grab them back up, and realized...Unless I did something dramatic, I was really going to read this letter. I was going to start it over. I really am a fool.

Something dramatic. Pity I don't have a roaring fireplace, or I could pull open the brass door with a cloth, blow on the coals, and then, with the heat burning my cheaks, I could throw the letter from my fingers with a cry, and watch it crackle and burn, its corners shivering and shrinking into black dust.

On the other hand, I don't have a fire. And, that sort of thing is the action of damsel in distress destroying a letter from a dashing lover. Neither of which am I. I am NOT a damsel in distress. And I am NOT destroying a letter from a dashing lover.

Actually, I may not be destroying the letter after all. Ooooh. I can't decide!!!

Oh...

Now this was an interesting turn of events. By this I mean, the letter I found on the thick "Welcome" mat that sits below my post box. Thick, spiky, and brown, (the welcome mat not the letter) it's definatly not so welcome as it used to be. I grabbed it from a market stall three years ago on the cheap. The dyed letters had come out wrong, and said something more akin to "Hell come" then Welcome. Typical. AND it catches on the door every time I open it, which is irritating to the extreme. But, like I said, it was not expensive.

However, that is not the point just now. The point is this. This letter sitting unread on my desk beside me as I write. My own fault, I should never have sent the damn thing. Now though, it's been replied to. Why didn't the postman drop the thing when I told him to! I will have to try sending a "get a rash" mental message to him later. Not that it will do any good, but might calm me down, and cheer me up.

Or not.

because when I've finished messing around, the letter will still be here. In it's official looking brown envelope with my address (but not name) on it. I know who it's from. It's blindingly obvious, but...

Oh!!! I am so annoyed! Why did he have to write back! Not my fault, HIS!

It's staying unread, that's what. It's going in the trash. Or, at least, in this drawer, under the photoalbum, and the holiday brochures. There! Done. And there it can stay! I am a genius!

Um...

I just decided, I don't care. So there! Ha!!!

Do I look like I care? Hmm? Nope. My eyes are bright, and do not say, "I am very upset and offended." My hair is brushed, I am not weeping on a sofa. I am fine. I do not care a bit.

So there! Oh. I already said that.

Well, that's that then. I posted the letter, I berated myself, I lived long enough to see that he wasn't going to even bother to reply, I can now live on without caring. Thank you everyone for your time. I'm moving on. Good bye. See you later.

Happy?

Happy-ish...Wondering why he hasn't replied...maybe it worked. Maybe the time I spend sitting on the sofa after I posted the letter, pressing my palms to the side of my head and attempting a direct mind-link with the postman worked. "Dr-Op the LetTer. do NOt lEt it bE De-liVEr-ed."

On the other hand, maybe he's simply not replying.

I don't care.

Well...

Well, so, I finally did it. And now I feel like a fool. An idiot. What did I go and do that for?

I felt the damn letter slip from my fingers into the gapeing mouth of the post-box, and it was only then, just then, that I realied I was an idiot. Again. My thoughts burst into a rapid stream, shouting two words over and over. "Get back, get back, get back."

I tried forceing my hand through the opening, but it stuck fast. I yanked it back, and kicked the red post box. Damn the postal service. Damn.

I've posted the letter. I can't get it back.

I wish I hadn't. I soooo wish I hadn't.

Hello...?

"Hello...

Hi...

Um? I suppose that tradition would have it that I start with something cursory and preliminary like, "How are you?" or "I hope that you are well." But, I think i can figure the answers myself. You are not of course well. How could you be?

And I suppose you would reply with words like, "I am well," (whether you meant it or not), "And how are you." To which I would reply, "I am fine!" or "Great!" or some such nonsense.

The fact is I miss you. A lot.

But there's nothing I can do about that, huh.

I think that's all I wanted to say.

Good night then.

Forever,
T. L. J."