Imaginary Pen Pal

 

January 16, 1965

Dear L

It is quiet here, though much is spoken

Little is said

I keep all my thoughts in my head, 

though I'm afraid they'll forget their way out. 

That is.. 

until Thursday comes around when I sit down,

hug my knees to my chest and write to you.

You remind me of everything true. 

I liked the days when we'd twirl 

under the moon.

Or sometimes the street light.

But for your nearness, there is no substitute

Tell me you'll be back soon.

Dear L

I wish I could play you the flute.

It's something to pass the time on a summer afternoon 

Yesterday I blew a popular tune 

and hoped it would find it's way to you. 

If nothing else, we'll always have jazz

If no one to talk to, Billie Holiday understands 

I am growing impatient with myself

I've read every book on my shelf

I tire of them all, of it all so much 

I'm ready to publish my own.

Will you read it?

But to do so you'd have to come home. 

Sincerely, S