Love letters that weren’t
As I’ve come to understand, Facebook has quickly become a gateway betrayal to one of the least tangible (more worrisome?) forms of unfaithfulness…emotional cheating. That semi-anonymous connection built over the safe domain of the interwebs. Old friends, old lovers, and the never-mets. It’s all very innocent until someone gets confused.
Though not quite in that vein, I, too, perpetuated an metaphysical betrayal. Born of Facebook, bred via hotmail.com, I was, though not quite, a Mrs. Campbell to someone’s George Bernard Shaw. In those many months of missives, I was more open, and clearheaded, and effusive in writing than I was in real life, and certainly not with whom it was to be expected. Which sounds sadder, now that I’ve admitted it to myself. Not so much sad that it happened; more sad that that better version of me seems only to have existed only two-dimensionally….and temporarily.
That correspondence faded, without its significance fully realized. Though, some day, I plan on being brave enough to rekindle it – the friendship yes, but more importantly, the truth-telling…first to myself, then the world. That love letter to me would be the sweetest of all.