The Letter

To you. For all the things I should have said. For all the things I can still say, but am writing this letter I will never send. Come on. You've been here. That voice, yes it's there, will probably never go away. Let's call her regret. It is absolutely impossible to live beyond regret. There are things we wish we did. Could have, would have, should have. And then some. Here it goes again. The key to hush her is to first acknowledge she exists. Women are quite irritating. New news. Embodying one as I do, doesn't make it any less so. I can't get it out. They're there. She doesn't sound like me. It's like a recording. That can't be me. Its always been on my fault list. Who truly knows what they want. And who ever they are, they're lying.

Hindsight has problems with communication. He is best when provoked. He knows what he wants, but just can't get it out. She doesn't know what she wants, but blurts a recording. Maybe this should be the letter in my head. The one I read before bed, the one on it's tenth draft, the one she won't record. Well, at lease I wrote the letter. It's the thought that counts. The lack of thought should get me somewhere. She may never leave me alone.