hey stacy, this is... golden. it has been a while eh? i have a million things to say and no idea how. i dont even know where to start. i have no idea who you are, which is strange because when i left you were the only person that i really knew. there are a dozen what-ifs that make no sense to ask but still i find myself asking them. why? how many times can it happen in one's life? i wrote this some time ago not necessarily about anyone in particular it it just how a feel sometimes.

"So here we find ourselves miles from civilization looking for nothing but someone else. The intellectuals are writing their lyircs to the songs we won't understand, and I hate them for that very reason. The snow is falling on your head. It skips mine and floats to the ground. You look at me as I'm fixed on it . The sidewalk is cracked and reminds me of the way that you smell. As the days get shorter you seem to lose your warmth. Im freezing because of you. I'm still looking at the ground, I hope it finds you well. If you could see me now. I'm running faster than ever before. I'd rather be anywhere but on this corner, because now I have somewhere to go. For every two steps I take, I'm forever three behind you, but it feels good because I'm sick of the smile on your face. I've lost mine, you stole it and gave it to them. So go ahead poets, write your flowery words and redundant phrases. As long as I'm bent over, there's plenty of room for yours. O, p.s. I checked the dictionary and Webster says you're lying. Confirm your sources with two colors of ink next time you jot some frivolous note on my behalf. To garnish it with words from my mouth gives it more credit than it deserves. So here's to you who laugh out lound on the banks of my dried up streams. Litter them with glass so I cut my hands and knees, whatever it takes to make you stop gawking in my direction. My clock's still ticking while yours runs out, or perhaps it's the other way around. If you take this train, I promise I won't see you off. I won't await your return. I won't even pretend to look up. Go with your head held high, they're probably getting anxious at the station waiting with my worn out smile. Exchange it again and again, as long as we're still in love. You give and they take and you take and you take. So let the boys scribble their thoughts and we can laugh together because I know they'll pass you by. Unable to grasp what they want to say because they say nothing more than the paint on the wall. The paint that you chose and left to thin under my broken stairs. If I sold my house and you sold yourself we could maybe afford somewhere to rest our swolen pieces. I'm too exausted, too worn out to meet your eyes somewhere in the middle of your masterpiece. So here we find ourselves standing next to eachother on opposite corners of the street and I'm negative three miles from the part of your lousy haircut..."

I think it says a lot about several important things. i'm not angry and pissed off, se lonely and depressed. I'm just in another place that no one uderstands but me. the story hasn't changed, just the way it feels... i wrote you a letter a thousand times and never sent it becuse i could never say it how i wanted to. they say that a ship that passes in the night always comes back in the morning... what is that really supposed to mean? a tenger parton ja'tszo' gyerek mindig tala'l egy ko"vet, mely az o"ve' e's ma'se' soha...