i think of you often. of all the things i want to say. have not said. dunno how to say. i write you often. last week i sat down on my desk in this white room. surrounded by books because the people i house with are also book lovers. you would love it. i sat and wrote you. skirted about. started telling you how cold it is. that did it. i tore the letter to pieces. this morning i wrote you. went all the way to the post office. slipped the letter on the counter and when the kind lady asked me where to. my hand reached for it and i was out of there in seconds. maybe tomorrow. i think of you often.