3:55 p.m. - 11/17/01
letter to keep from calling.
It would be easier to write you if I knew you were actually going to hear what I have to say. I try not to think about how many times I've planned to call or how much I know that is not displayed in my action. I try not to think that I might be disappointing you. I know better than to feel that shame as well. You used to say so often that I would only hurt myself this way, but - I could see how happy you were when I was doing well. I loved to make you happy that way.
Do you think of me, Red? When I am not calling, when I am not there, when you are not there? Do you think of me when there is no reason to? Do you wonder if I still watch the shows we shared together? Do you wonder if I've gotten back on track or scaled further off course? Do you wonder why I'm doing this, or do you know? You know. Of course you know. I say half a sentence and you speak the rest.
I know some of what Ed is trying to say these days. Mostly it's that they don't understand how thoroughly dehabilitating it has been to leave you. And they don't understand how little I care about anything except returning to you. They don't understand that I have no strength to do anything but sleep, and that I despise waking up because then I have to realize I'm not *really* back home with you...
Home. My heart is still with you, busted as it is. When I left that day, Mom said "Wizard of Oz. Tinman." I don't know what she was referring to, but the line that popped into my head was, "Now, I know I have a heart ... because it's breaking."
Forgive me for being abnormal, but you were all I ever wanted Red, and for all my fairy tales, I've never been taught what to do when the wish comes true only to be taken away...
chord
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