Love Letters in your Inbox

Mr. Volcano wrote me. 

Most of you don't know who I'm even referring to, as I realize I wrote about him on a different blog. 

That's how long ago he was. 

A life time. 

1,675 Days.

Give or take a hundred.

Another girl. 

With long blonde hair. 

Who wanted to join the PeaceCorps just to follow some kid who put Stevia in his coffee. 

Can you even imagine?

Seeing his name in my Inbox played a montage of emotions in my musical mind. 

Surprise.

Shock.

The words NOFUCKINGWAY echoed several times.

Dread.

Trepidation.

Curiosity.

Annoyance.

Joy.

Calm.

After reading all he'd written, which was longer than I was expecting, that was the feeling that overwhelmed me. 

A sort of calm. 

Which sounds so bland considering I hadn't heard from him in years, considering his words were so kind, considering he apologized for the past. 

And that was how it made me feel. 

Calm.  

If anything hearing from him made me feel like anything was possible. 

It was one stupid email. 

But it was like getting an email from a ghost. 

Who knew how else life could surprise me. 

And as I let the calm embrace me I realized I had no idea what to write back. 

Like. 

Not one sentence. 

I'm one of the most verbose, overly communicative people I know and I didn't know what to say?

What was wrong with me?

I think part of it was remembering who I was back then.

Who I was when I was the girl he used to smile at stupidly with a guitar between his arms. 

That time we skipped the soccer game and stayed home singing duets together.

Or carving pumpkins.

The selfies we took together before we knew they were called selfies. 

None of it was really simple. 

Not really.

There were sisters and roommates and parents who were still mourning the loss of their ex daughter in law. 

But it seemed simple somehow to me now.

Or maybe just innocent. 

Hopeful.

The kind of relationship we had then I can't imagine happening in 2015.

And that's fine. 

It didn't work out. 

But I remember what a hopeless romantic I used to be.

Things would happen and I believed in the meaning behind everything. 

My faith in people blinded them so much they couldn't look me straight in the eye. 

I wish I could have drinks with that blonde girl. 

I wonder what she'd say to me now. 

I don't know if I've figured anything new out. 

I wonder if she'd think I had.

Maybe hearing her voice would make me look more at the stars again. 

I'd like that.