Letter to a Gatsby

"As if I would write you a note before you ever left New Orleans.

The other day I went back and read the "Secret Blog" entries I have written about you and this - perhaps one day I'll share them. Likely not. But I realized it was sort of sad I had written all this about you, and little to you. So I may write you little notes until I meet someone else or am convinced you will view them as some crazy woman you used to fuck.

You surprised me yesterday when you called - and thank you. I have spent a lot of time loving and hating the uncertainty of this, and every now and then you have given me little "gifts" of clarity.

You said the other night "I have nothing to offer," and it stuck in my head. All you will ever have to offer anyone is yourself. The other stuff is both fleeting and imaginary and relative. In a way, you "did right by me" by never really offering that - because it is the vulnerability we love in other people. So, very kindly, you never let me fall in love with you. Now: I am generous to a fault and I love you - but we both know the difference. You already have everything you can ever offer anyone.

xoxo, Veritas."

Part of what I like about little cards like this one is they restrict how much you can say - really, one or two thoughts, and then you run out of real estate. I could extrapolate about this topic for a while, but it forces me to streamline it into the above.