In writing another piece, I was reminded of a phrase a man used with me in correspondence. He told me I had delicious writing. I love to write and think and explore and craft and create frameworks. But, writing to him, someone who found me exquisite, delicious, simply based on my writing was lovely. He was utterly interested in my thoughts and experiences. He read them. Commented on them. Asked for elucidation. Provided validation. Reassured.
Of course, we met eventually.
And, he disappeared.
Of course, that broke my heart.
But sometimes I miss him. He wrote beautifully, too. At least, in my memory he did. Someday, I’ll go back and mine those letters for content, turns of phrase. He made me feel important to him. I miss that.