#Letter#Journal

Dear Leif Erik Backom,

 

you are on the plane, singing West Coast Sun. I’m in class, thinking about you, what verse have you reached by now.

I miss your touch yet you never did. Days are speeding away before I notice them. Now it’s down to seven days, seven agonizing days, You know how you feel when you’re about to jump into the pool and the waters below, you feel excited and scared, and it takes a while to get courage and jump. That’s how I feel now. Excited and scared. It’s a tiresome feeling, to be held ready to jump but not able to bring yourself to do it.

 

 

I can’t wait to have my own home, my own little kitchen, bed and window. I want to sit by that window and have a beautiful view of real green park. That alone would make up 14 years of a baron yellow desert. I can’t wait to walk in the park early in the morning. Nobody’s there, it’s still and quiet and mine. The fresh air that I so longed for. The green. It’s my color of hope, new life, new chance. I need the green to heal my soul.

 

I can’t wait to go to the market and buy things for my house. Pickup some apples and cereal. Take care and keep house. Play house. I’m so excited about living on my own I need my individuality, individual.