The 19th of August 2015 – Sydney, New South Wales

(found in a ball by the sidewalk of a pathway by the harbor leading to the bridge)

Dear Cindy,

It is one of those nights again when, though I am so tired, I can’t even think of sleeping. I know what will happen.

Even so, it is hard to fall asleep standing up, and you know as well as I do that I haven’t moved from atop this rock you set me on a year ago, staring out at sea and watching the waves, hoping one will carry you upon it.

In a ship of course.

But what’s the use, as I couldn’t even move if I wanted to or tried.

See, Cindy, just as there are two and three, four, five and six types of people, there are also two. There are those who can go on no matter the circumstances and those who can’t do anything but think about how the world can go on no matter the circumstances.

I’ve seen the clouds roll in and out, striking greys and blacks and puffy whites swirling in the sky and seen the blue and the black and foam of the sea crest and fall and dip and slosh and rest against the shore. Going on and going on, and all the while I am standing here.

Thinking, of course, and sometimes dreaming – dreaming, as I have always dreamt – of holding palm-to-palm the Love and watching, finally, pinks and orange and yellow rest upon the horizon while you sit beside me on this rock.

Dearly,

Charles

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