Hello there! Sorry to have taken so long with getting your boxes to you. I've been putting off the inevitable. Believe me, just sitting down to write this is turning out to be more difficult than I had expected. I feel all my tear duct and throat lump centers pulsing and awakening, and I did not want this to happen.
I try to be objective about it all -- you and me -- and remember the reality of our parting, the reasons...but it all gets lost in this pool of sentimentality and mush. I miss you. I can't bear to think about it, about you, for too long. I guess I had forgotten, being busy with work and all. But now, with nothing but time on my hands to reflect and rehash and reminisce -- I am feeling the tug of strong feelings (dammit!) and I guess I'm just still in love with you...and I thought I'd recovered.
Sincerely, Rienna, you are the most incredible woman I've ever been blessed to have such a relationship with. The months I spent with you were the happiest of my life. You came into my life so freely and brought nothing but joy. So, naturally, your leaving should produce some sadness, unless I'm a callous, unfeeling fool.
I can't help wondering if there was anything I could do, could have done, still do -- to be with you again. I don't think there's anything that means more to me than you. I guess I'm deceiving myself. Things weren't perfect. I know that I became shallow, unappreciative, undemonstrative -- I don't know. Maybe it's just one of those things, no one's to blame.
You were up front with me from the beginning. You stayed true to yourself. I thought that I could change you, make you want to settle down with me, but that didn't seem possible. So I rode it out, just being with you, for as long as I could before you'd go. And now you're gone, and I'm kicking myself for allowing the woman of my dreams to slip away. What a fool, huh?
Maybe we just made each others lives a bit more bearable in an otherwise crappy time. I hope I didn't bring you any pain or cause you to go away with my crappy behavior. Everyone gets a little blind -- I just hope I didn't act like too much of a jerk by not realizing what I had.
I just don't want it to be over. I want you to come knock on my window and say, "Just kidding. I never moved. You were dreaming. Now move over, so I can get in bed with you."
I'd ride the range out to Nebraska and carry you off, but you might have a new beau, and I don't have my six shooter handy. I'd probably die on the spot anyway. I'm too immature to handle thinking of you with someone else. Intellectually, I can, but that's not the part of me writing to you right now. It's my abdomen, my innards and glands, my watery left eye and quivering, taut lower lip which speak.
I was hoping my brain would catch up, and I'd impress you with my detached sensibility, but fuck it, not on this occasion.
On the lighter side of the news, I've got a job interview tomorrow, as a clerical Jack-of-all-trades with a local appliance repair co. Temporary work to relieve a pregnant owner, as receptionist, dispatcher, order desk, etc. Starts @ $6.00 per hour. Not in the bag yet, but it's only 3 blocks away on 11th Ave. Pray for me, eh?
