I am going through a box of postcards and letters from someone who used to love me, someone who was on the edge of proposing lawful marriage. It's a good thing it didn't work out, as he's now married to the love of his life, and that's a good thing.

It's a little odd looking at old love notes, old sweet things, postcards of Keith Haring's paintings, and of Magritte's work, all with such warm thoughts on their backs. I even managed to read the near proposal, attached on a card that came with roses, without feeling too ill at heart. It used to hurt quite a bit to look at it, to remember that I was that close to something so special. Not marriage, that's a neither here nor there issue for me, but the warmth and love.

He was a good friend, very special soul, and had the most unerring sense of gift-giving I've ever seen. It is an art to have that kind of ability with choosing just the right items for a person.

I miss that sense of warmth. I miss it very much. It's been too long absent from my life.