A few weeks have passed since the last time you contacted me.

You suggested that I email you.

I haven't. I won't.

It's taken me awhile to decide that this is what I want.

I want my life to be free of you.

I want my head to be free of thoughts relating to you.

I want to be able to move on, to let go, to take off, to fly free, without you.

Maybe it's not the best way to do it.

Maybe I should write to you, just to say goodbye.

But I realize I'll get the words all wrong and I'll end up hating myself in the end.

This way things will fizzle out, like they always do.

This way you won't realize I'm really gone until it's too late to pull me back.

This way I'll feel better about the lingering thoughts that I know will cling.

I can blame them on myself for not writing a last letter and for not stabbing our fake relationship in the face with my vicious pen.

I don't have to blame you and you can still be the good guy.

Because I know, deep down, underneath all of the garbage we've heaped on one another, I know that you are good guy.

That's what's making it so hard to let go.

Someday I'll look back on this and realize how crazy I really am.

Maybe you'll float back into my life and we'll have a good laugh over it and a pint of beer.

Maybe you won't and I'll never be able to get rid of that feeling that I should've kissed you that night when you drove me home after talking about numbers on the dock.

The offer was on the table and I passed it up.

That, I think now, was the last chance.

I have to be ok with this, because I can't pine anymore.

I can't wait around and hope that you'll come around.

I have to be able to move on this time and move on for good.

All of my love and hopes are with you still and you know damn well that even as I close my heart off, hoping you won't try to get back in that there is a place reserved for you there, always.

Take care Steve, be good to yourself.

Grace Singer

September 7, 2003