L'esprit de l'escalier

My dear one, 

The only time I have the perfect thing to say is when it's too late to say it. I hear there's a term for this malady - l'esprit de l'escalier, French for "staircase wit" - that perfect retort thought of on one's way out... In my case, I tend to replay conversations in my mind after they have taken place, mulling over my words and kicking myself for my timidity and recklessness in turn. I can always come up with a much better dialogue during these "replays." This is one reason why I will always prefer the written word over the spoken, for as I write my thoughts materialize into words more slowly, carefully, thoughtfully, intentionally. Chit-chat drives me mad. I long to sit down and have a serious conversation with someone patient enough to hear my heart. This heart of mine becomes more tightly closed and brittle the longer I hold things in. My Heavenly Father is the only one I trust to care for my burdens and sorrows. Even in these letters I tend to be more guarded than is warranted.

But perhaps you are truly interested in the cares of my heart, the delights that make me smile, the questions I have that are yet to be met with answers... I need the discipline of writing to be a solace for me this summer, and you, sweetheart, are the (un)fortunate recipient... 

Promises of more to come...
Me