Sunday evening normally entails writing emails to people back in Richmond. I would write about my week and all the things I didn't fully understand and all the new things I discovered. And I would wait for the responses to come back to me, bolded messages in my inbox each morning.
But over the weeks the responses have been growing shorter, growing fewer. Where once you wrote about your life and the weather in Richmond, you now only write "I miss you" as if that explains it all, as if it's that simple.
This week there was only silence. I wonder if the distance between us has grown too large or if your lives have just grown too busy for a response, either way the result is the same. I never told you how your letters were lifelines for me or how I reread them daily to remind myself that there are really people that miss me. And now that lifeline is gone.
This week I couldn't bring myself to send out any emails.
But over the weeks the responses have been growing shorter, growing fewer. Where once you wrote about your life and the weather in Richmond, you now only write "I miss you" as if that explains it all, as if it's that simple.
This week there was only silence. I wonder if the distance between us has grown too large or if your lives have just grown too busy for a response, either way the result is the same. I never told you how your letters were lifelines for me or how I reread them daily to remind myself that there are really people that miss me. And now that lifeline is gone.
This week I couldn't bring myself to send out any emails.
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