Day Eleven

April 14, 2006,

Dear Lunch Buddy,

I’m not sure what to think. From the communications that we do have, I can’t help but feel like you’ve made up your mind and it’s only a matter of time until you come to me forever. It seems so certain. But my heart won’t let me trust that. And until you say the words, I can only hope that you’re not just toying with me.

Tonight, I asked you to dream about me and you told me that you don’t dream lately. Doesn’t that tell you something? Your spirit is dying. You’re going to suffocate it in that box that you’ve only recently climbed out of. You told me that if you did dream, it probably would be about me. Dream of me, Lover. Dream of the way I stroke your face and your bald head. Dream of the way I run my fingers through your body hair. Dream of my fingernails scraping gently down your back and across your nipples. Dream of our kisses, deep, sweet, and smoldering. Dream of how we hold each other as close as humanly possible… how our bodies move only slightly, but the sensation is deep and intense and keeps us always on the edge. Dream of clinging to me, panting, sweating, and overcome. Dream of my breath in your ear, whispering, "I love the way you feel. I love the way you move. I love you more than you can know."

Don’t let me down, Baby. Come home soon.

Forever,