Johnny grabbed a pen and started writing a letter to June in which he said it was just a matter of time.
“You know most days I don’t make bold declarations like this one in which I say it is just a matter of time but today is different. Don’t know why, can’t say, can’t figure it out and won’t bother trying because it is a hunch.
‘Cuz dearest June something in the air has changed and it feels like I can reach out and touch you, figuratively and literally.
Which is to say, Red dress, blue dress–it doesn’t fucking matter. I like them both. 🙂
And I think you’d like to see what I might do about them. Maybe I’ll just smile and say no and maybe it will be like a snowy New Year’s Eve on a staircase.
But most likely it will be different than all that because different is good, meaningful, important and significant.
Not to mention you miss leaning against a familiar man who is just different enough to be intriguing but well known enough to be comfortable.”
He signed his name, folded the paper into thirds, stuck it in an envelope and then life continued.