Hey Darling,
I know it’s hard to get the waves to match, to amplify. Or for there to be any moment, or semblance, of simultaneous empathy.
Days seem to be measured out in such a way that getting home makes every hour epic – or at least that’s how I want it to be. Occasionally family stuff comes up – a birthday necessitates a call home, and it feels like it cuts into the long story. Used to be hours felt like short stories, microfiction. Now they want to be that too, but I demand a journey.
Of course, I don’t always get what I want.
I didn’t realize where you were tonight when I put you to bed. It was a different place from me and a conversation with my father about sports and our favorite teams and the fact that no player should earn over $1 million. That, when we buy Nike shoes, we are paying that $90 million Lebron James got in his contract with the company. It’s important chatter in a way. But it’s not the long story on a night like this.
I’m sorry about the way it all went down in the end.
Now that I think about it, I should’ve finished the movie with you.
Love, Harvey
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