12:36

September
I want you to know how sane you keep me. Your absence, however brief, is allowing terribly anxious, if not neurotic thoughts to stir up and around so uncomfortably. You make everything completely accurate. Nothing matters, not the way I take care to choose the best act, dress, voice, diction. The way others treat others, the corruption on the streets and in the courts, it's all too entirely irrelevant. You've taught me this probably unknowingly on your part. I've noticed and considered every detail of your being. Every message you may have to convey. My intent observation has finally proven convenient and for this and for you, I am incredibly grateful. I wish I would never run out of words for you, because I fear the end of this as a letter, as it's not even reached the qualifications nor has it said it all. Maybe it all has yet to dawn. But the more we prevail, the closer we come every day to the end, to solitude, to revelation of perhaps the least desirable kind. Or maybe this is better achieved than not. I prefer to chase inspiration rather than retreat at sight of a risk.