h,

i wanted to call you. wednesday. yesterday. today. but i didn't dare, because i had the sinking feeling that you wouldn't want to hear from me. so i'm relieved to get this message from you.

i had a really wonderful time with you the other day, and, at least for an afternoon, i didn't think about how you have a boyfriend and live in another city and were actually born after my little sister. instead i thought of your smile, your beauty marks, your banter, your darksoft skin, the scent of your hair and your kisses. oh and your kisses.

wednesday night's slumber was mixed with dreams induced by a pretty-girl-scented pillow and guilty thoughts of potential ménage-cassing. all this mixed with the imprinted scent of a heart half-full of madagascar.

you were right to laugh when i translated the arabic that i can only poorly pronounce. and i, in an incarnation of 18 year old wisdom ahead of its time, was right to have the black letters burnt and carved around my achilles' tendon for all to see. i understand your choice, and under the circumstances, it probably wasn't a choice at all, since there's but one thing to do (or rather not do). that being said, dear h, i am, of course, still your friend. and between letters and ones and zeros and presents sent back and forth between south and north, maybe, one day, things will be a little different.

until that day, however, i'd like to apologize for my misplaced and clavicle aimed kisses as well as for my awkward silence and longing gaze.

-s