I hate that we always need reasons to say hello that it never seems enough to just be thinking about someone and so moved to reach out to them.

I've been thinking a lot about paris recently. And in turn you due to you being a part of my paris. I miss it, and I miss you. I miss the way you saw me, or at least the way I thought you saw me, so more I guess the way I saw myself in your eyes. I say that and obviously then have to see the less than sweet moment flash through my mind, and while I am sad that those instances have to be included, I can't say I don't miss them too. They, we, it was all so intrical. I miss that real sense of correct moments. And I do miss you for nothing more than everything it was.

I wrote about you once, about what it might have been like if it could have survived.


Do you ever wish you could ask for things to be returned to you which never belonged to you in the first place? If I could I would ask for your shirt, the one with the bucking bronco. Everything I adore about you threaded through that shirt.

mj