about the talking fish

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Writer. Wheelman. Occasional DIY mechanic. Walking collection of hang-ups. Hopeless romantic. Old-school. Analog soul in a digital world. I am all of these things and more.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

A letter to my new friend in Houston

I have more or less recuperated, thanks. I managed to complete the week without having to dip into my stock of sick leaves. I am grateful I never got to the point where the sickness would leave me significantly weakened.

I paid a price for that, however. I was not able to chat you up on the evenings that I really wanted to.

Yes, you told me that I should not just sleep but rest---i.e. lie in bed and do nothing. Because of that, I have rediscovered the sheer fun of jumping between TV channels, looking for stuff to watch on a Friday night, after a prolonged hiatus away from the boob tube.

However that paled in comparison to the companionship you had given me these past couple of weeks. All told, we are still strangers. Yet this early, I am sure you and I have something quite special between us. You are unlike most of the friends I have made at work, with whom I still have some hesitation in conversing. An entire ocean and miles of land separate us, yet we can chat the hours away like the old friends I wish we'd become someday.

After the disappointment and heartbreak I have shared with you, I realize you were the panacea I was waiting for. I enjoy your company and your insights, and I genuinely know that you do the same with me.

As long as I have friends like you, I do not need romance. I do not need to gamble on relationships. Besides, you already know I think sex and prettiness are overrated.

Thank you, my friend. May the sun kiss your life all your days.

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