no answer

While I sit here pressing upon the keyboard and reframing pictures of mystery, he twists.

At least, I imagine him twisting and trashing, wondering just how I'm going to respond to his unbidden missive. Wondering if I'll respond to his declarations.

I'm wondering the exact same thing, bub.

Where is is written that all rights are given to say I love you to those who graced our past? Because he deems it so, the light is falling and I must answer?

In all probability I will not. In all honesty, I do not feel the same, did not feel the same, and have my own swirling, changing, crazy fun-filled life to lead here and now. A life that does not involve trips down memory lane as to what once could have happened. Those doors closed. Those doors were never open. What doors?

This heart o' mine, this muscle still beating in my chest, this metaphoric soul - were never yours to play with, mister. Why, oh why, in a million years would you believe that your fantasy was about to become reality because of this letter that you so eagerly await a reply to?

Two days so far. In this age of instant communication, that's a life time. There is no gloved hand bowing as my escort and I am not sitting daintily in petticoats and corset, fanning myself at the arrival of a letter eschewing my qualities and begging my hand in his.

No answer is the best reply I can offer now.

To continue as if it never arrived. To continue with my life and the man I do love and cherish. To ignore the past and hope he moves on and eventually finds his own way. To let him hope that it was never delivered in the first place.