In my first letter I mentioned my love for writing. It’s somewhat ironic that I am in the midst of writing an academic paper (my doctoral thesis) that feels like it will be the death of me. I now understand completely the joke about the “terminal degree”... All that to say that I am not going to go over every word of these letters with a fine-tooth comb like I have been doing for several hours a day on my paper. You will no doubt read many poorly-constructed sentences, way too many uses of “I” and “me,” and all of it much more prosaic then the ideal poetic language I wish to cultivate. Perhaps a part of that stems from the fact that I’m typing all this on a keyboard, when I really long to pour my heart out to you on beautiful stationery, using my best Spencerian penmanship (thanks, Mom, for insisting!). When I meet you, I promise to write you beautiful letters, with real pen and paper. But for now I truly need an outlet for these pent-up thoughts, and I yearn to share them with YOU!
Waiting,
Me
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