I put my pen down. I haven’t told her the half of it but I’m incapable of putting most of the roller coaster emotions I’ve discovered in the last few weeks into words. The way I’ve been on such a high – a scudding around in the clouds, life is just the best, nothing could possibly go wrong ever again kind of high – only to come crashing down minutes later into a black hole from which nothing can ever go right again. The way I’ve endlessly questioned my own decisions like never before and like I never realised was possible. I can’t write all that in a letter – I don’t have the literary skills. But one of these days we can spend hours talking about it.
Or maybe not. Maybe by the time we get to meet up again it will all seem irrelevant and part of another life. Water under the bridge, as they say.