Dear Mr. Turner

It's been sometime since last we spoke. (In fact, It's been a lifetime to be exact, but who's keeping track?) I filled my head with a million things to say to you if ever we met. I practiced them in front my bathroom mirror, to be sure I wouldn't stumble over my sentences. I carefully constructed a conversation in which you spoke and I responded with a whity retort or a hurtful remark. I've never seen your face, or heard your voice, and I can't imagine what you may think of me, or if you think of me at all. Often times I found myself lying in bed, asking myself questions that only you could answer. I'd have a drink, or seven and be asleep by eleven. Only to wake on cue, at two, to thoughts of you, and a headache. I used to anxiously await the day that you would knock on my door, simply so I could open it and reduce you to nothing. I waited for 20 years. But, Alas the day never came.

Still waiting,

Regards.