August 18, 2004

I don’t write letters

I wrote a letter once.
I was in Israel. I met a girl. She seemed nice.
I wanted to kiss her. I didn’t. I’m shy.
I wrote her an 8 page letter. In the dark. I have no idea what I said. I was 18.
I knew her for 2 days. 8 years later she gets my email address from the friend I was staying with when I met her.
She mails me. She tells me she found my letter. She tells me she realises she was in love with me.
I don’t write letters anymore.


22 thoughts on “I don’t write letters

  1. Oh! That’s really sad. But how did you write a letter in the dark?

    Karen on August 18, 2004
  2. A little bit of moonlight. I could see the lines on the paper, but couldn’t really read what I was writing easily.

  3. Good excuse for the inevitable shocking spelling…

    Karen on August 18, 2004
  4. Oh come on, all the great romances end with tragic but ultimately barking. Juliet? Catherine Earnshaw? Anna Karenina? We don’t really want the great romance of sevitzdotcom to be dumbed down and hollywooded up, do we?

    Karen on August 19, 2004
  5. Good point. But to be a true tragedy, you’re not supposed to want barking… My exclamation was of the “Don’t go down into the cellar!” variety…
    So, Mr. Sevitz, does she poison herself? Throw herself under a train? …or waste away with some unidentified Victorian malady that afflicts the sorrowful and confines them to bed?

  6. I broke off contact with her. So you can treat it a bit like one of those “choose your own ending” books.

  7. Stop! Now! You’re encroaching on a future theme.

    Karen on August 19, 2004
  8. Adrian, don’t you consistently tell me that all women are psycho? Why give her special treatment?

  9. “Psycho”, as I read in the Metro today, means not feeling remorse for bad actions. How do you know how much remorse she felt?

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