Dear Lovage,
I have much to tell you.
Yet I have little to say.
I think I might have said too much already.
Or not enough.
After three reclusive days, it felt awkward to be going back to work. Then I found that I could not check email nor get access to the Internet for days. Last week, therefore, seemed to have existed in a vacuum. What I did during the typhoon days appeared to have no connection with the outside world. In an attempt to tell you the story about the silver ring you gave me, I feel strangely alienated from the girl I was just a week ago.
I taught an English class on Sunday. The same day, in late evening, I met up with a long lost friend from senior high, who is not only drastically changed (from my view) but also married. How bizzare...
We are of the same generation, of the same age, of the same teenage years...
Sitting on the sofa in Reader's Cafe, I was turning the menu pages with my left hand when the waitress asked if I made the ring. I felt the sudden excitement of being appreciated, even though it was not me, it was you. So I said, "How do you know it was of amateur craft? My friend made it, not me." She looked at the ring with an expression of praise and admiration and said, " You should tell her to make more and sell them. It's good."
I made up my mind to tell you about it, to give you some more confidence boost. That night I might have been a teenage girl of 17 years of age. Before him all my follies were easily forgiven.
love, parsley
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