I talked to the most prolific letter writer of the bunch two nights ago for almost four hours. The first time we have talked like that in almost ten years. It was nice, very therapeutic. One thing that it has done though is make me aware of how bitter, jaded, and shut down I have become. I was naive and idealistic then, but in losing that naivete, I have lost something else too. She put me in touch with something, something that I probably shut down myself, semiconsciously. I remember believing in real love, true love. I believed that there was a person out there specifically for me. I’m not so sure I can or want to believe that, but I can believe in real love. The problem, though, is that it hurts so much when you don’t have it. I guess that’s part of what it means to be human. Somewhere, sometime in the past, I lost my way. It’s time for me to find it again.

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