a letter home
He'd just gotten one word written before crumpling the paper and pulling a fresh sheet out to start over. "dear" just "dear" and it was all wrong. He could never start that way, not to her. Women could be so frustrating sometimes. Growling a small curse to all woman kind he wondered how this letter would go over. He was sure the same letter at different times could bring comepletely different responses. That was the real problem with being so far away, you could never choose when the recipient read it, and you are at the mercy of whatever mood they may be in.
Sighing he realized there was just no way to write a letter to this silly but wonderful woman. On the verge of giving up he slumped back into his deep chair, staring off into his ceiling, shaking his head in frustration. It'd been so easy when they were near eachother. All it took was a glance and he'd know exactly how she was doing and she would him. If'd they'd both been deaf or mute it'd not have made a lick of difference when they were together. Just being near her made everything make sense. It was as if they were two people who had never met, but everywhere they went, the other was there with the same idea in their heads, and it just made sense to be together. It just made sense.
Heaving and even more disgruntled sigh he bodily shifted in his chair trying to wrestle comfort from the chair to sooth his growing tension. It'd all made so much sense, until he'd left. Now nothing made sense, and he couldn't figure out what to do about it. She'd wanted him to go, because going affored great oppertunities for him, but he'd wanted to stay, with her. Things made sense when he was with her, and that was more than he'd ever had. So they'd done what was right by others... He'd left. Everything fell apart.
He thought she blamed him for not staying even when she'd said to go. She'd had a rough life, and no one she could rely on, and maybe she couldn't beleive he'd stay with her, and so she had to throw him off. Leave before being left. Things hurt less that way. She seemed to go back and fourth, and he never knew when being kind would make her angry, but he tried. He really did. He wanted to let her know that he did care, even if they never saw eachother again, but he didn't know how, didn't want to make her angry.
Things used to make sense he thought. Putting the pen down, he stood pushing up with both hands on the desk, grunting as if it were an effort. "Maybe tomarrow my love, maybe tomarrow" he muttered and suffled away from the desk.
Sighing he realized there was just no way to write a letter to this silly but wonderful woman. On the verge of giving up he slumped back into his deep chair, staring off into his ceiling, shaking his head in frustration. It'd been so easy when they were near eachother. All it took was a glance and he'd know exactly how she was doing and she would him. If'd they'd both been deaf or mute it'd not have made a lick of difference when they were together. Just being near her made everything make sense. It was as if they were two people who had never met, but everywhere they went, the other was there with the same idea in their heads, and it just made sense to be together. It just made sense.
Heaving and even more disgruntled sigh he bodily shifted in his chair trying to wrestle comfort from the chair to sooth his growing tension. It'd all made so much sense, until he'd left. Now nothing made sense, and he couldn't figure out what to do about it. She'd wanted him to go, because going affored great oppertunities for him, but he'd wanted to stay, with her. Things made sense when he was with her, and that was more than he'd ever had. So they'd done what was right by others... He'd left. Everything fell apart.
He thought she blamed him for not staying even when she'd said to go. She'd had a rough life, and no one she could rely on, and maybe she couldn't beleive he'd stay with her, and so she had to throw him off. Leave before being left. Things hurt less that way. She seemed to go back and fourth, and he never knew when being kind would make her angry, but he tried. He really did. He wanted to let her know that he did care, even if they never saw eachother again, but he didn't know how, didn't want to make her angry.
Things used to make sense he thought. Putting the pen down, he stood pushing up with both hands on the desk, grunting as if it were an effort. "Maybe tomarrow my love, maybe tomarrow" he muttered and suffled away from the desk.
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