To not send a letter.

God do I miss you. I know the spot on my knee that makes my elbow electric, and it never ceases to amaze me. I want to chain smoke you. They know all about me. Your father, god your father, what must he think? It wasn't supposed to happen the way I think it might be happening. Because you left. It was for the best but you just left and I still have your clothes! I want the smoke of my pipe to float to your place in the world and whisper my breath in your ear. No one else knows the timbre of my voice as you so desired the fluctuations intonations even the silences. I want the future chance to tell you. That a river runs through this heart and it never stops until it finds your embrace your words your hands. It would be selfish to do it now but when will it be too late? I won't give you an inch until I am ready for the endless miles of what lies ahead, and that road trip hasn't started yet. I take time but my mind has a mind of its own, and we both love the books. I never let myself mourn for you cried my eyes out saw you leave but I was brave why did you have to make me be brave? I know you felt me crying because your shirt was wet with snotty tears that I often dream you never washed away. You are the good read I always come back to and have never finished. I have dog-eared your pages (didn't mean to hurt you like that!) Bent the binding written on your margins held you in my hands until the sweat from your palms dripped blood and the pages were too blurred to read. This was no Dick and Jane but you made it so easy for the ideas to resonate. Did I say resonate? I mean't haunt. You haunt me. But I have to put you on the shelf because it is shellfish to do anything else in my current state and you deserve ALL and I know you don't mind shelves anyways, as long as there are books nearby. Just don't wait for me if it hurts. It is all happening the way it is supposed to. The trees tell me so.