11:28 p.m.
January 10, 2006
This is the third in a series of nineteenth letters
Out of anyone on the eighteen, plus the two carryovers so far, I've talked to you more in the past few weeks. Weird, ain't it?
You make me feel worthwhile and terrible about myself at the same time - the latter, because I don't speak to you as often as I should. More than often, I just don't have anything to talk about. Maybe I do but I don't expect much in the way of conversation over it. When I do talk to you, I wonder why I don't talk to you as often as I do. You can find whatever reason you're happy with for that.
We were buddies early on, true, and for no real reason, but I think the only reason it stuck and I traced you through more than three fora is this essence that I feel flows through only decent people.
Have you ever got that feeling where you know, you just know you're right? You take a look at everyone else's point of view, and you know you're right? I wouldn't want to pull that on some finance debate or an ethics or moral quandrary, but on matters of introspection, it's tops. In every setting I've seen you in, they've largely been wrong, with poor priorities. I can understand how others can get a very vague, flat pleasure out of that.
They, of course, referring to not you and not me.
Maybe it's how everyone else functions - it's a refusal to acknowledge that the internet is valid for meeting genuine people. Granted, I seem to have a "type" - young women who are in a bit of a rut, which you were at the point I met you, if I recall correctly.
I've got a type, but at the same time there's great variance within it. I can't imagine you getting along with any of my friends, in fact.
Thing is, I can ditch that scene so fast because of what else I can rely on. I bounce from person to person when I'm in need. It hasn't worked well lately.
You don't have that freedom, and as much as I wish you could let go easily, I can understand why you can't. Maybe the fight is worth it.
Being rejected by no one versus being rejected by someone, perhaps.
I'm conceited, I'll admit that, but I'm conceited about you. Swear to god, you have a community. They care. You just haven't found them yet.
Thank you for being there, even when I've neglected you. My bad.
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