It is January 14th, eight days since I last spoke to you. I thought the hole your absence would leave would break me, but I'm ok. I'm not great, just ok. In six days I start school again. I have used the time I had formerly spent chatting with you and gushing over you for more intellectual pursuits. I have rediscovered my feminist, independent spirit. I have been contemplating my career, cultivating my creativity. I have ventured out of suburbia to rekindle my love of the city. I have even spent a few hours jogging outside in the freezing cold pondering the value and power of Ayn Rand's Objectivism. I've lost a few pounds. I miss you.

Normally I try not to fall for guys who are taken. It seems a little sado-masochistic; As if I am setting myself up for pain and suffering. This was different. She was leaving you. Or so I thought. December. California.

She's still here, and I have given up. Normally I don't give up, either. Obviously my relationship with you has been anything but normal.

I met you during a time when I needed a friend, when I was mourning the loss of my best friend. You emailed me constantly. You were on my wavelength. You have a sick sense of humor. When I saw you, I never told you that I loved you. Except when I was kissing you. I guess you never heard it.

Alanis. That damn pop icon. Angry, bitter female. I'm driving home after telling you I don't want to talk to you any more. Her whiny voice buzzes through the blown speakers in my VW. "dear matthew, I like you alot. I realize you're in a relationship with someone right now. And I respect that. I would like you to know that if you're ever single in the future and you want to come visit me in california I would be open to spending time with you and finding out how old you were when you wrote your first song." I pull over. Stop the car. Cry. Start the car. I go home and go to bed.

I don't know what your future holds. I don't know what my future holds either. We are young, ambitious, and who knows where I lives will take us. I just want you to know that each evening since I last spoke to you, I say a small prayer. I pray that you get accepted to medical school, and I pray it is in this city. I am staying here, at least for a couple of years. I want you to be here. Even if we aren't together, that will comfort me. Maybe we can be lovers. Or maybe we can even become good friends. Soon. Just not yet.

For now, I love you and miss you.