I so much I wanted to say too you but I don’t have the skill to say it all. Last night I wrote you several letters, writing until almost 3 in the morning and I have even more questions to ask. I was unhappy with any of them because most of what they contained were my own insecurities And now I don’t feel the need the share them with you. Not that I think they would really even mean anything. They were simply a way to be with you and they contained more of what you already know: which that I love you and miss you.
I would send them still if I thought they would somehow compel you to leap into my arms or to share your sweet kisses with me. But for now they have served their purpose which was to keep my from going completely mad with thinking about you and why you decided against calling me. I know that you may have simply been overcome by events and I know your life is complex, but I hoped that you would have thought of me. Either thought of me to let me into part of your life as someone you enjoyed, or thought of me and let me know we’d have to do something another time. Whatever the reason, it has passed as has the evening, to me it was a missed opportunity to spend time with you. I don’t know what it mean to you except that it must have meant something less.
If my words sounded accusing, I’m sorry. I’d didn’t mean to accuse you of anything except for not calling me. And if that made you feel bad then I’m only sorry that we didn’t spend an evening together.