Written to someone who [I hope] will never find this blog much less recognize themselves in this.

When we talk, I try to stifle every cliche question that would elicit preset promises that neither of us are able to fill. And yet I find that they creep out when I am not paying attention. Why haven't we talked sooner? Why not more often? 

Even the subtle statement of fact builds promises like containers which we ourselves will fall into when they have been left empty long enough. We should get better at this.

It's been years since we last talked, but I shouldn't tell you that when you call next. At this point, every phone call takes a week's worth of courage and a month's worth of guilt. Every phone call is expensive and it is not my right to make it cost even more.

Neither of us really remember how we got here. Well, we do but we didn't know what would happen then.

Robert Frost should have wrote, "Two trillion roads diverged in a yellow wood" and I took one that you didn't take. And you took one that wasn't even close to mine. And now, we are trying to bridge a distance not imagined by poet, scholar, or us. But for a while, a long long time ago, we shared a road and that has made all the difference.

At least, I hope it makes a difference.