Tim sounds nice. I mean reads nice. By what you described, he seems like he treats you alright. Rock n' roll. Movin' on. Proud of you.

Sorry he found that letter I wrote you a few weeks ago. Though it means a lot you kept it. Aren't remnants of past lovers interesting? It's not enough for us to take pieces of each other as we press forward, but we also have to leave little trinkets to remind of the good, the bad, and indifferent times.

Tara left her favorite burnt, metallic necklace with a blue buddha charm embedded in the carpet when I lived at 2307. Thousands of hairpins were hidden throughout the place when Sam and I split. You threw that gypsy bracelet in the grass by the streetlight -- the one I got you in Colorado.

Karen didn't leave much with me. Instead certain shirts and pajama pants of mine -- became hers. She put a smell on them. I still can't wear the clothes; though I also can't get rid of them. I'm a hoarder. Keep all the memories for myself.

Do you ever dream of me?

No, I haven't seen Easter Island again. I looked Sunday night at O'Brien's. I imagine she was in one of those modern restaurants --  Japanese trees, Muzak -- with her white napkin folded neatly in her lap, drinking ice water, and humoring some fast-talking crazer who has a snowball's chance in hell with her. If I ever find the energy, I'd like to be that crazer.

Yes, I'm still night driving. I've got a big adventure planned for tomorrow. I'll tell you all about it. Tell me something honest in your next letter. Something you're afraid to tell me.

I'll learn to accept Tim. I promise.