figures, the one time i've wanted to talk to you in months and you're not online. i haven't been in a while either. i'm not avoiding anyone, least of all you: you promised you wouldn't contact me unless i contacted you first, and that's kept so far. used to be that i was the one who wanted it that way, but now the roles are probably reversed. i saw what you wrote about me. i'm glad you're not as bitter about it as you were once. it's good to see you branching off, i think, and it's good that you're expanding your horizons and such-- and the second i have these thoughts i feel like a paternalistic bastard up past his limits of ego, as if i'm an element of responsibility and cause in your life. am i? i have a place there, i suppose, but that's all in the past and it isn't going to be what it could have been. ironically, i think you accepted that before i did.

i don't know why i went looking for your name on this particular evening. it may be that i keep telling people the story of how i almost died last thanksgiving or raving about pumpkin bread: it's hard to keep memories so closely related to you separate from your form in my mind. if you're coming home soon i want to see you, if you want to see me. if you won't be home for a while i want to see you then, too. i want to catch up and let the gap in time heal what was wrong with the friendship, if that's possible. and at the same time i'm not sure if that should happen at all. if you read this, don't think i didn't send it because i didn't mean it, because i don't know what i mean. i still have the button, you know.