Stream of consciousness from sitting outside as it began to rain

Dear John,

I don't think I've had conversations with anyone that were as intelligent, philosophical, and exciting as ones with you. Outside of an academic setting, at least.

I have this yearning to re-connect to nature, to contemplate God, but I still sort of want to do it with you by my side. Or at least to be able to return to you after I have contemplated. And we could share what we learned and combine forces.

I am turning into a music snob! Oh no!

You said you think change is like a death, where you have to leave some things behind completely. Please don't leave me in your last life.

I am dying to call you. (This feeling is so similar to the same longing to talk to you when we were still together but you were on the other side of the country that sometimes I think it's the same, dull pain that has allowed me to survive this week.) But I don't want to appear...however. I've been waiting for news of a possible job that would move me your way or to finish this book that I think you would like. You know, to have a reason to call you. But I am too impatient to wait for either. And I am scared that you will completely ditch memories of me before that time comes.

I think I've grown out of instant messaging, but I sign on just to get a glimpse into your life. Though your one-worded away message that hasn't changed in days doesn't really help much.

Whining. It's not flattering on me. I should try writing lyrics or something instead.