haven’t slept in what feels like awhile, tried tonight but just lay there thinking about wf, the letter, my gracious response to the letter which, if written now, would be a little more curious, not so gracious. part of me just doesn’t understand. she can’t do this anymore because it got a little serious, maybe she felt something, and that is threatening and scary and not worth risking everything for, and like something malignant, cancerous, i am cut out of the picture entirely. and all of that doesn’t make me feel good, in fact it makes me feel shitty. she has been so persistent in maintaining boundaries, not indulging me when i pushed and prodded and poked those boundaries, that it was all friendly, just a correspondence between writers, vague friends, and that is what i am having difficulty accepting, why it couldn’t continue if it was just friendly, why it is wrong to talk to another man if nothing could ever possibly come of it. but the truth is i am asking these questions when already i know the answers, that it is the secretive nature which is bad and must stop. and the truth is i wanted something to come from those correspondences, fell asleep some nights thinking about it, and now that the letters have ceased i find myself feeling very gutted, missing those letters very much and wishing, hoping, they can someday continue, because they were, that connection was rare and wonderful.