Postcard ten

 

 Peggy,

   It has been so long. When you came back, seeing who I was in person probably changed your mind about our friendship or something I did changed your mind about who I was. My writing was me, but my weakness and immaturity came out when I was around people (you). My writing was my base. Being around each other, what you saw was not what you wanted. Over the years, the writing was more and more my reflection. More and more me not afraid of showing it to some. You were the start of that process.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Fifty-one

 Peggy,     Well, yes I have been writing more lately, evidenced by the frequent postcards, so words have been swirling around in my head. But adjectives (I am a keep it simple kind of person) more than others simply because others have been using them on me a lot lately. We struggle to find new and exciting ones for our pieces, but I absolutely refuse to use them on people. Living breathing humans, I mean. The religious "judge not" thing. Whatever mythology you follow. Yeah, I'm human too, mostly, but just when I get frustrated, angry, lonely and I keep them to myself, at least.     So yeah, I do.     And I don't know what to say, until I met her, I was pretty much up and down or in and out through a relationship. Not enough talking through them all. I can't imagine you not giving though.     Wood is most comfortable for me, walls (inside, brick outside), furniture, cabinets, but that is me.      It wa...
Read more

Twenty-six

 Peggy,     I hope you still write.      I don't mean to be one of your patients, sorry, clients. Life is just so tiring. And it's good to hear (yeah, I know) you finally laugh. Not good to hear you are alone, again. Here I am.     Sorry, about this part.     I look at her face every night. Remembering her voice, the feel of her skin.      You haven't said much about your family. Your younger sister was always kind to my wandering, immature, ignorant soul. I don't know that I like the word soul. I haven't found one (word) that I like, that fits, yet.
Read more