This...was the end of it. I don't intend on getting in touch with her again. Ever.

The one fallacy I have that is a part of me, so much a part of me that I can't shake it, even now, is that I, a fabulist, can affect your perceptions of me (of us) through the sheer power of words. No matter how hard I try to be an upstanding member of New York City society (friends, bars, work, what-have-you) I can't...shake you.

I've tried. And you're still whole-heartedly embedded in my head.

Seems to me (5am, Saturday night, kinda drunk, work at 10am tomorrow) that we've spent way too much time trading unfairs. You are unfair. So am I. This is the nature of our relationship, past and present. Sucks, maybe, but. I can't...change...this.

Look. I wish the best for you in everything you go for, and you know I think you can accomplish absolutely anything you so much as think about. I am absolutely unwavering in that. It's magic, the things you do by the power of will alone. That's a trust I don't give out lightly, or (actually) ever - I'm actually willing to believe in what you used to try to teach me, drinking coffee and scribbling things on napkins that, no mater how hard I've tried, I could never really come to grips with. I wanted so desperately to be able to understand you, but our circles rarely met and...I lost that part of you. I feel like I didn't try hard enough. That's my fault, I think.

You know this, can't screw up in my head, not to the point of me losing respect for what you're capable of. You are golden in how you think and what you can bend scares me, a little. Scared me then, scares me now.

- - -

It's been a year and more and...christ.

One of us blew it, here, and (me being me) I'm going to assume it's me. I miss you. And you're gone. And that's ripping me to shreds. Girls suck. You...don't.

Maybe it way a mistake for me not to fight with you when you came home and said 'this is over.' Maybe I'm a horribly fixated freak, a guy who doesn't like change to such to such an extent that, even now, I wait for you to recognize what we've both lost and similarly what we've both gained over the last year.

Maybe (as I said somewhere else) I'm anthropomorphizing a ghost.

And maybe...I'm not crazy. Maybe (just maybe) there's still something here that, even through our now wholly disparate circumstances, we can bridge. Maybe we can be real, true friends. Or maybe we can convince each other that we've made a serious mistake. Either way.

I miss you, Amy. Every gesture and every (un)necessary silence. I wish I could shake you, but I can't, and I don't know why.

We can get coffee and talk about all the inanities of live, the universe and everything...or you could tell me what's really going through your head. We could trust each other a bit. Biased? Absolutely. But balanced. And (as always) there for you. Sand then, maybe; rock, now.

Do us both a favor, and lean.

I sent that last week. Haven't heard back. For various reasons, I'm not surprised.