M.,

thanks for writing. i'd never kill-file you, you know that.

i meant what i said in the Shag, of course, but i gotta be honest. you never entered my mind when i wrote it. it was to a woman in NY who i know nothing about. we've exchanged two emails. she seems to be hurting really bad so i thought i'd try and help. not sure it did any good. though maybe the people on the periphery will benefit. i'm glad you dug it.

now that i've gotten that out of the way, i will say that i have been thinking about you a lot as well. just not when i wrote that letter. i'm not sure i'm ready to get together with you yet, even for a drink.

to be honest, i'm really surprised you haven't written sooner. an apology or something. a confession. anything, really. something to clear the air. certainly by now you must know that i found the ticket. right?

how could you lie to me about that, M.? i mean, i know my geography sucks but i do know how to use a map. i know what city is exactly half way between Toronto and Raleigh. did you split the price of the tickets or did you cover his as well? (and please, M., don't try and deny it. i called your parents. you don't have an Uncle Fred. and, to quote your mom, "even if she did, why would she being going there with him? there's nothing to do there.")

just to show that i can think about something besides the betrayal: i was going through my scrapbook last week and i came across that Feyyaz Fergar poem. do you remember it? i'm sure that you do.

There are times, rare and few,
When contrary to all evidence,
Recorded pain, hearsay or exegesis
I believe that love is a window.

This is one of them
And I wish there were a few more around.

you also may remember what i think of when i hear the word window. Sicko: "my window of opportunity / was dangled right in front of me / but it won't open up / 'cause it's painted shut." [mp3]

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