Love Letter to an Old Friend

My skin is not so soft as when you first touched it. It still looks as delicate, translucent ivory betraying a maze of veins, yet my fingers reveal to me rough patches. I think of you so often, you are my friend who never really had the chance to be. Circumstances conspired so that we might cross paths and though we had nothing in common, through recent experiences we found a common ground of sorts.
A deep melancholy defies me tonight. I feel ill and it has dragged on long enough to unseat me. I long to be outdoors in the glorious sunshine, on my bike with the wind all around me. I long to be at work with my platonic lovers, discoursing good from evil.
There was a time when I thought I could be your bottle of tequilla at a party, sitting next to you on a train, a fuel for your well hidden reluctance, but friends are harder to know that way. What firey intenseness we expect, we come to know, we anticipate from tequilla with consistency is inconstant in friends.
Daylight is beginning to fade, casting a shade of yellow on my walls that makes me feel so lonely. So alone. I want a friend I can talk with on the phone but I don't know your current phone number so I am writing instead.
With love,
J