Dear Leanne

I can’t give you this letter. You’ll never see it, or know it exists. But that doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about telling you about it.

When we interact, I have to stop myself from giving you more than you’ve asked for. I notice little doubles entendres slipping into our conversations. Mostly, but not exclusively, on my end. Verbs that work just fine as deployed, but that conjure images. “Slide.” “Rub.” Adjectives that function similarly. “Deeper.” “Satisfying.”

Our relationship is itself about to deepen, to become more satisfying. Of course, not in the ways for which I long. No, it’s not going there. But that doesn’t stop me from imagining.

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