Sometimes I feel like I am in a rowboat and a giant oceanliner passes by. The wake of the ship tosses me about like a cork atop a pond on a windy day. All the while I cling to the sides of the tiny craft and hope I don't drown.
So head to land, right? Well, so far, land appears just on the horizon. I cannot seem to get any closer. One of these days.
"Please Come to Boston" started running through my head just now. I felt your presence. Thanks, dude.
So many of your friends do not know me. I guess many of them think I am wacko. Maybe I have not given them any reason to think otherwise. My heart hurts no less having known you for six months than someone who knew you longer. The quality of the time counts, too.
Sorry.
Later.
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