This is the sentimental part of me, the part you rarely get to see, except for that time I allowed it to slip after you took me to see Gene's new movie An American in Paris, back in New York City.
I seem to have a particular vice for opening up at the wrong time and place. Forgive me for the spreading of heavy loads of my feelings so late to you and in this format.
John, if I don't hear from you before the holidays, I hope all is well. I don't think I've ever said a truer statement. You've opened my eyes to many things. You've changed me, and seemingly for the better, and as such I feel I am a better person for having known you.
I will also tell you that I am fearful when I write these things to you. Fearful of opening up and being rejected, and fearful that when I tell you these things about you that they become white noise. Such is the risk I face, I guess, but I wanted to write to you thinking: "What if this is the last chance I have to talk to him?" Maybe I tend to make my communications a bit longer than necessary, a bit more emotional than warranted on paper than in person. I just can't celebrate the holidays without telling you these things, and hoping you'll forgive me and come back to me when you're ready.
Missing you terribly,
First published: February, 2007
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