Steinbeck and the Shoe...
Dear Juliet
Regarding a certain State Reserve in Steinbeck country, I thought I'd just make passing mention of a brief and personal thought, quiet and beneath your ken. Not a mote in God's eye nor anyone else's. Something like:
"Though about Point Lobos, pity it cannot be," and add a link to Perry Como's Impossible...
But I think I understand that a daughter of narcissists always believes that love is conditional, that the other shoe is forever poised to drop if you're not always perfect. That at any moment, I could turn into some sort of violence-crazed maniac bent on revenge like Dr. Evil.
So I thought I'd take a risk and simply say:
No, I won't.
I'm just sad it's impossible. That you weren't able to see the view from the Hyatt, walk past Brad Pitt's place, sit on that petrified log and have a pastrami and rye sandwich with me.
I'm sorry you didn't sit on Drusilla's beach and see the surf coming in from the sea.
No, the shoe won't drop and you're safe. I'm just stupidly sad about it all; and I'm definitely going to polish off that bottle of Baileys with Star Trek tonight, wondering if you'll ever call me Jim again.
So there we are, that's all I wanted to say.
Love,
James

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