My current feeling about my grief is that it will be hard to see any improvement from here. I can see that there was a big improvement in my mental well-being when comparing three months with two months. I can see that I was better again at four months. Even at five months I can see an improvement. But I can't see any progress between five months and six months.
My mental state is no longer like a wound in which time would assist healing. It is more like hunger, which only gets worse with time.
For a few days, Iíve had it in my mind to write a letter to my first high school love interest. She was the first girl I took a fancy to once I'd reached puberty. It's a long story, one which I've written about elsewhere. Suffice to say, there were many times before I met Julie that I wished I'd contacted her. And now, I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what would happen if I did. The worst that can happen is that she asks me not to contact her again and the intense embarrassment that would be associated with that.
So I've had the form of a letter floating around my head for a while. I ended up writing it on the computer on the way to work yesterday morning. But late last night, I wrote out by hand what I'd previously typed, and it is the hand-written copy that I am about to post.
In reality, it's unlikely that anything serious could come of it. She is a divorcee living in Barrington with her children, and in the same town as her parents. It is unlikely that she would choose to uproot herself from that, and I certainly couldn't move to Barrington. Also, I know nothing of her faith, or if she has any.
One thing is certain: nothing will happen if I do nothing. So we will wait with keen anticipation for a reply.
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