Well, I've done it. I wrote an exceedingly long e-mail to Zelda. I told her how I feel, and I told her in story form everything I - well, I suppose not *everything*. I gave her an account of our interactions, describing how I'd felt along the way. My intent was to communicate more effectively - and, hopefully, elicit a more vicarious response - exactly how I feel. I think I did a fairly good job of it, though it is… rather large.
It was 34KB of nothing but text, but I know that isn't a very good reference point for most. I threw it into a Word document when I was done, and in 10 point Times New Roman (single-spaced) it was nearly seven pages long. [As a more immediate example for those online, journal entry 66 is 17K, half that size.] I can't help but feel a little bad about it; I hope she has the time to read it, and I hope it does not unduly rob her of time she needs for her studies. Perhaps she will print it out for reading away from her computer. I suppose that would be appropriate - though then it could steal attentiveness during class. Kevin, you fool. I think I'm envisioning the priority an e-mail from me has to her entirely too high. Still, I do not know her habits. What if - great Scott! What if she prints it out to read and someone *else* gets a hold of it? …I suppose that would not be all that bad. It's shocking to think of - for it had not crossed my mind before - but I have shared most of the content of that letter with my friends already; what she does with it is fine with me.
Oh, Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. You've sent the e-mail. It's out there now. No turning back. Ach.
You know, it's interesting. Last summer, just as I was about to walk away from this whole thing, I was - well, I guess that was the most free I've been this whole time. And then Zelda and I had that conversation at McDonald's, and I was caught up again. But, just recently, for little periods of time I can feel myself covering it over. The analogy that immediately jumps to mind is that of a pearl. An oyster got a speck of sand caught inside, and it was irritating. It bothered him so much, and would not be got rid of. Once, it was nearly brushed out, but currents changed and it became embedded more firmly inside him than ever. After it had been there for a while, he began trying to simply deal with it.
That's about where I am right now. Assuming that "we" don't work out, I will continue to deal with this attraction until it is completely covered and is a pearl. The analogy breaks down, here, because when my sand grain becomes a pearl it will cease to bother e, and will not be so much a beauteous thing of value as it will be a plaything, as are other emotions I've learned to control.