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Oct. 4th, 2009

For what it's worth, I missed you.

First time you even got an inkling, huh? Never was any good on the spot with that phrase, it dangles awkwardly from the side of my lips but is snatched back for fear of feeling the limb beneath crack and fall. No more than a copper teaspoon's worth of emotion, a half inch of unspoken feeling, but it was true. There aren't enough gentle truths out there, and gods know I spend enough time propogating sharp and vicious truths, the kind that take the shine off the lies that shield the weakest parts of us. So here it is. In a corner of the world it is almost entirely certain you will never discover, late and unlikely to be of value anymore - the words it took six months to say: "I missed you". The very definition, I am sure, of too little, too late.

You were just slightly short of an open book, but I managed to keep all my words hidden. A quintessentially hollow victory, to wrap oneself away from the world and observe it from a height, tracking the patterns of the ant-hill, working on the very pre-Copernican assumption that, alone of all the people in the world, I am the only one it is truly impossible to understand. Time to get over it, girlie, you're only as unique as everyone else, and your layers and subterfuges are all mere excuses. For too long she thought she was too young for life, and now she begins to feel too old, and she doesn't want to reach a place where the memories she needs to rely on simply do not exist.

How hard should it be to step beyond your comfort zone, pull out the appropriate attire, and be someone not overcome by shyness and quietism? Thus far, overwhelmingly so, with every venture into the world masked with a potted character - giggly disposable girl, shy and gentle ethicist, intimidating intellectual snob. When each is rejected I can rejoice for being two-thirds unrefuted, and I once again miss the point.