dear blog-spot-lover-of-mine,

remember when it was just you and me? when it was just the two of us? and we were each other's own best-kept secret? and so anything was possible? and anything could be said? and that was the point you know. to say everything. to record everything. because i had this sense that, hard as things were, i needed to record it all. to remember. because memory is important. history is important. a record, vital.

it's not so easy anymore is it blog-spot lover? because it's not just you and me. and i have to worry about what i say and if i'll hurt someone, offend someone, embarass myself. but i want to remember. even if it is skewed, this memory (and i know it is skewed). even if five years from now i'll look back and think of it all differently. because i want to see the space between the memories--the histories--the stories i tell. i want the inconsistency.

i want to write about being an island and the loneliness it entails and how it's not fair to become so necessary to someone only when the person that's really necessary leaves. or the five years of static sandwiched between two once-friends on a subway.