What would you say if I told you that I’ve written about you? Would you like it? Or, would you simply dismiss it as so many others have? … As I once did to you … I’m sorry; I was preoccupied. I didn’t let myself live in the real world. I was stuck in the fantasy I had created for myself in years previous. And now, it’s too late. Isn’t it? Oh, can we go back to the grass that beautiful Shabbat in Jerusalem? I’m so sorry I didn’t make you feel every bit of how beautiful you were, you are. Now that I at least have the words to say, it’s too late. You’ve surpassed me. You’re this wonderful intelligent giant, and I’m but a grasshopper skittering about at your feet. You occasionally look down with a warm smile marveling at my meek existence. And again, I’m sorry for I have self-imposed this silence between us. I think it’s because I feel ashamed for not letting you in. You were my manic pixie dream girl, but this isn’t a Woody Allen movie…