Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Letters Never Sent:Volume 1

I met you when you were waiting tables at my boyfriend's restaurant. Dark, a bit moody, but with a light behind your eyes, we connected instantly, and by the time my meal was finished that first morning, with the staff all around the table noshing pastries from the bakery across the street, and slurping down our coffee, we were fast friends. Perhaps we recognized in one another that tendril of emotion, the cord of thoughts and feelings clear and taught between us. You were young and inspired by your angst, a philosopher at heart, questioning everything.

We would stroll along the Potomac with books in hand, discussing Kant or Rilke, or music you had just discovered. In essence ours was a bond of brother and sister, with a twist. There was no romantic attraction, unless you count the sort of romance of the old days, when men and women would stroll the parks, canoe with umbrellas and speak of deep things. You longed for something, some tether to your world to keep you from flying away, a diaphanous wing, a scattered leaf to the wind.

The morning I heard of your suicide I was not shocked. I was deeply saddened though, for your light had gone out without my knowing it, and our connection had snapped quickly.

That was over 25 years ago.

And I still miss you.