It has unleased something in me. I loved you. And, you loved me, you said. Sweet words . . . but we all have a time when we crave to have the taste of something else. You did.

Bittersweet . . . is how we taste the last of love. Savoring that last morsel of delicious nector from our relationship. "Relationship" . . . the word it has become . . . our love.

The dregs, the scrapings, the last moisture we can wring from that fabric we first wove to be our lives . . . .

You asked me, but I keep on . . . well, you see, I will surely have myself in real depression, on my way to despair . . . . Why don't you write more often? . . . . Do me a final kindness, make me learn to dread the sight of your name.