"Oh, you are really such a pretty one.
I see you've gone and changed your name again."
— Leonard Cohen
My nights have been restless. It is not your fault. It is half the weather and half my memory. I don't know if my last letter ever reached you. I included a couple of postcards as well. On the back of one of them I wrote have a beautiful summer. That was two months ago. Between then and now I've been to a few places, read a few books and wrote a few articles and met a few people... just to fill up my time. Oftentimes I've sat down and pondered if I should write you another letter, and each time I forced myself not to, because who knows, these are delicate times. But the words keep bubbling inside, and here I am writing you this pseudo-letter which you’ll probably never read. This is not an exercise in catharsis. This is love. I'll suspend my disbelief, fool myself and call it that. The days are long, but this is not such a bad ending.
Happy birthday, C. I hope you didn't miss the meteor shower.