two months

I'm sitting nervously at my desk, missing the comfort and ease of my recently retired lap top.
My hands are typing, but they are reluctant and questioning. It's been so long since I asked them to do something worthwhile, something slightly more challenging than msn lmao. We are both still unsure as to whether this is something to begin.
I've been debating this with myself, whether my words are important enough to be put out into the world like this, it seems to formal. But I've made up my mind, my hands understand that. It doesn't matter whether I am the only one who knows this is here, so long as I am writing, thinking; questioning the world in a way I have only ever done when I write.
An old passion, an old love, an old flame. My first.

Dear Writing,

i love you
When I left you, did I change? Did I leave a part of me with you?
I have missed you emensley and am wondering how long it will be until you return to me like you used to. I miss the words you taught me, I've forgotten them all now, like a second language you forget to practice. I have only limited adjectives left; super, intense, awesome and amazing. I swear now too, constantly.
I'm writing this letter to you in hopes that you will return to me as soon as you can, you are my first love, a peice of me will always belong to you and theres a peice of you I stole and have been keeping in my heart.
I hope you come back...



Love always,
(L)