The miracle of technology, it's said, brings people together. If anything, I've seen, it tears us apart. It exposes us, again and again, to our own personal anathemas. People and ideas we'd rather didn't exist, or at the very least, never spoke to us. No firm ground, no rarefied air.

I wonder if you still read this. I know, I've said it before that I'm getting ready to be rid of this thing. This... leftover from my old years, when I was a different person, in a different place, a different time. But that's just it, isn't it? I was still looking back then. I was still trying to figure things out, finding my place in the world one bit at a time. There was something intimately sexual about a person, blind to humanity, fumbling about in the dark. You could just... interpose yourself, and my hands would find you. Because, quite simply, you wanted to be found. Again and again.

I wonder if it's still that way for you. Whereas I was just trying to keep my head above water, you were trying your hardest to stay in the pool. Our ideas for morality had never landed at your shores, and it made everything you did seem strange, almost chaotic, in a beautiful, almost erotic, kind of way.

I wonder if you still read this, because I'm not the seeker I used to be. I'm not blindly groping, but rather traveling with one eye open. I found bits and pieces of myself, spread about from one crises to the next, but you left no footprints. I can close my eyes and catch a half-remember scent or witty comment, but there were no footprints and no paper trails. You were a ghost in the world presented to me. You didn't want to be found here, where you could be judged.

I'm an author now. I was before, but never like this. Completely free to produce whatever I wished. I've finished a story. That's something I never thought I would do - finish what I started. That's destination talk, when you were always more interested in the journey, in the experience. I'm going to publish my first story soon, as my own publisher. It's a pretty mature story, but I think you'd like it. It's believable because it's not the world I grew up in, dictated by morals and rules. It's believable because as I was writing it, I thought about you and the others, how you would all behave in a room together. It's believable because morality isn't something that can be laid out in a sentence, or even a book.

It's difficult being a lover again, not because I don't know what to do, but rather because I know what's going to happen in the future. You told me yourself, being out of it was like freedom, not because you didn't love the person, but because their paths determined where you could, and couldn't go. You taught me to have fun in the present, and I wonder if you still do. So much has changed. I wonder if you've forgotten?