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We said 'Goodbye, good luck. We'll keep in touch; See you, then.'
We'd shared the bunkbed for two weeks: I think we could've shared more.

Of course, (Why?) I never got around to actually sending off a letter.
I wrote it, wrote another, a third, a fourth. Each looked worse than the one preceding, none worth sending, none worth reading.

I sat down after Labor Day, this was going to be the one. I didn't]send it, though. I think junior high stopped me.
I'll wait until I'm settled in school, then I'll really write.
I didn't.

I know, now, why then I didn't know what to say:
'Hi, I'm fine, how are you?'
That's ok, I guess, but how do I tell you about my life in a place you've never seen?
Do you care to hear?
Good point, Jane.
And I pushed it off again.

I spoke to a mutual friend of ours, who wanted to know what I'd heard from you.
'Nothing.'
I don't know why she was so surprised, I'm like that.

Look, it makes sense on paper, but I didn't know what you were thinking. How you'd react, if you'd think I was nuts. I hate that, rejection.

So now it's 8 years later, and I'm thinking: Where would we have gone together, had we kept in touch?

I know I lost the chance we had, which wasn't much, come to think of it. It's just the way I am, pondering over what ifs and coulda-woulda-shouldas.

I remember you as perceptive; as caring, thinking, deep. (Deep? ) Maybe solid's a better word. How did I know this stuff, anyway? I was only thirteen, for god's sake!

Your offbeat sense of humor, has it changed any?
Did you go to Europe when you were 18, like you swore you would?
What does your hair look like?
I layered mine off, and don't know where I'm going, only that I've got to get away and learn something more.

This is the last letter I'm going to not send you. At this point it's not for you, anyway.

I wonder where we'd have gone together, if we had kept in touch.

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