I finished the book. The last segment, 40 or so pages. As I read, it all seemed to speak about relationships. The whole story felt like it was more of a character study in human society than a science fiction thriller.
Whether you finished it or not, I guess I’ll never know. By now, I don’t think I even care to know. Do you remember when we first discussed this little venture?
At Barnes and Nobles you suggested the idea. I agreed. You followed up with “are you sure?” several times. You called into question my commitment, yet there I waited at that Starbucks, our usual table…the one where you sit and you can see the other three faces that would, in theory, be looking back. But there was really only ever the two of us, about which I had no complaints.
You never showed though, to hear all the things I had noticed or questioned about the plot, characters, or the themes. You had overslept, even missed the gym you said. Well, I can’t be too mad.
I had just hoped for more. And I was betrayed by that hope.
Wherever you are, probably still in Salt Lake City since you appear on the dating apps, hopefully you finished the book.
And that very day I read Elizabeth’s letter to Victor:
“I, who have so disinterested an affection for you, may increase your miseries tenfold by being an obstacle to your wishes.” Had you read that letter? It leapt off the page and plastered itself all over my current situation.
But some situations are tulips: beautifully flowering into perfectly recognizable symmetry, even if just for a few days.
Others, though, abide and are more akin to giant redwoods: deeply rooted, standing up to the passage and challenge of time, to reach heights of greatness. Both are admirable.
As Walton wrote to his sister: “I have gained him only to know his value, and lose him.”
Something like that.
Writeous Ink 