May 19th, 2002 - 5:28 p.m.

A missive professing adieu to an imaginary boy I have never met.

"It could be sweet, like a long forgotten dream."

But we both know it is never what we would like to pretend it is. The accusations have been made, and they hang about, suspended by string from the ceiling, and still cut into those who dare walk too close.

You have broken more than my heart. And though popular media enjoys to dribble out methods of healing for the sensitive new age soul, you know me well enough to know that I can never forget and therefore am incapable of forgiveness. I would like to heap on feminine sentiment, and declare that I shall never love another after you, but you should also know that I cannot lie.

I am saddened that this must end, and my fond memories of you will make me wish that things did not have to turn so ugly.

But then I will remember the prefect who loved dragons and wish no more. And I shall take the stance of the old man with a crippled son, and be content that in all sadness, springs new happiness.

I refuse to be a slave to sentimentality and sensation. So, I thank you for a most excellent waste of time.

Love Always,
N.

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