Theme for the day - letters. We wrote letters. With pen and ink on paper, put them in envelopes and paid the post office to deliver them. Apparently I was falling down on the job. I'm not surprised. If I still had to communicate by letter, I wouldn't communicate. One of the reason I lost track of so many folks over the years is that I would let a year or two go by before answering - and then I would write a small novel - but in the meantime, someone moved, left no forwarding address, got lost.

Maybe that's another reason this relationship got lost. I wonder what would have happened if we had been able to be together all this time. Would I still have left? Did I get tired of writing letters? If I had not left, would I have left eventually. I still think I would have. If I'd married him and gone to Woodstock, would my craving for adventure have been swallowed up in married bliss? I don't think so.

He says he finally got another letter after a hiatus of a week. He wonders if I forget to mail them. He assumes I write every day. Maybe I did. Or I was supposed to. Or something like that. I don't think it would have made a difference if I actually had done so. Or perhaps it would have. Perhaps my ability to write a letter a day would have meant I was truly ready for this relationship. That I fully realized that he would be my adventure. There was never anyone else who would be that adventure, although I tried several on for size. For him, I think I was the adventure. I was never anyone else's adventure either.