As I type this on my blackberry you are surely sleeping, dreaming perhaps, though most assuredly not of me. I do not understand why it is that I have of late thought about you. Perhaps it is the void that I have always found upon our absences from each other. Perhaps it is the music that pulses from my iPod, and the memories it recalls. Perhaps it is all of the plans, promises, and futures we so foolishly whispered of...as if the volume of our voices would make those moments fall and shatter into nothingness. I once told you how you were my own particular brand of heroin (a line I borrowed from a tween literary series). Even as I sit here under a humid sky, I find your voice coming back to me. I've never been so attracted to anything, as I am to you. Perhaps the most curious part of it all, is that I have found myself questioning whether or not we have ever really known or understood each other at all. Were we simply infatuated with wanting to be the other half of something wonderful, that we never took the time to see how horrible we were for each other? I don't want you to think that I haven't tried to move on, because I have tried. Those times were like a smoker sucking on a straw, not understanding why their itch wasn't scratched. I dare not say any of this to you, as it would certainly illicit sympathy and pity from you, and I am not one to be pitied. I have a great life, one that has allowed me many great and luxurious trappings to occupy my whims and follies. I do not know why I feel the need to put electronic font to screen tonight. Maybe it is a deep desire and longing for you to know all of this somehow. As if by my typing, the universe will spill forth my word horde, and make my heart known to you once again. You have never been far from me, even as the geography of the union have stood between our bodies. You have never been farther away then you are tonight. Good night my love. My flights of angels sing this dream to you tonight.