Christopher Bang,
Barrennjoey Road,
Sydney,
Australia.
March 25, 1960
Dear Christopher,
For the several times at which I inked that line of greeting, there was no solid barrier perceived to meet along its path. I but expected that they would simply run free, and one day be held by the hands of an anonymous character. But as of today, I know that they have had a true purpose.
Has the thought of scribbling the words of at least a mimicked apology crossed your corrupt mind, Christopher? How can a sane man, after reading out the cries of a poor maiden's heart, not think to apologize for all the pain at the duty of his own hand? Your eyes have seen and the voice in your head has recited all of which I struggle with within, and you chose to remain silent for such a long time.
You are the donkey that my father demands that I never ride.
I feel utterly foolish to have begun with this programme in the first place. But my heart has grown even heavier at the fact that I naively believed that you were deceased for so long.
I shall not even go on with this page for today, as I am now aware that you have selfishly analyzed everything, and probably even cackled at my misery.
But make me known of this, Christopher. I may see a sure reason for putting an end to this caricature of communication, but what is your justification as to why you should no longer partake?
Sincerely,
A.