Life has been…interesting. So much happens day by day, week by week, that I wish I could just collect the events in my life and my thoughts about them in a jar as they occur and drift it off your way.
The little joys and trip-ups seem so significant when they happen, but once I sit down to write to you about them, I exhale once, and they are blown away like a dry leaf in the autumn wind.
I have nothing left to share with you. Only vague feelings and torn images and words remain, and I’m afraid a collage of mismatched information wouldn’t do you any good.
I’m awfully lonely without you here; I remember when we saw each other every day, talking about our day over snacks and drinks. You had the best cookies and I had the best teas. We pulled out all the stops when others came over; we loved to host and entertain, and we knew we were the best at it.
I feel like I make more mistakes when I don’t talk to you about things. You’d probably think I was stupid to do some of the things I’ve done recently. The last time I saw you, you had changed so much. Even though we’d kept in touch, I’d missed an entire five and half years of your life. They hadn’t felt so long, so I didn’t think they had been. I wanted to meet you as a friend I’d always been friends with, but in reality, we were meeting as people who had once been friends.
So I don’t know if I’m calling you “friend” now because you are one or I wish you were one or I’m imagining you are one. But I still try to fill the jar from time to time, and though I don’t send it, it always bears your name.