Will I ever know you well enough, if you don’t return

So this blog post may illicit the rivers cuomo, sad boy feelings, from I was made for you.

Not because I'm in love, hell no, I stay away from that like it's the plague-iest of all voids.

But because of what the word return prompts in me.

I wonder if j* gives a hard e or a soft e to the word. 

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Today I tried asking him how are you supposed to give the person you're supposed to love a friendly ear for their complaints about the boy who won't call them back. if he returned or RE:'ed me I might be reading, "keep living it up with an unrequited ignore and change the subject." But it has been about 20 emails back and none have been 'forth' to my inbox. I open my letter app every morning jealous that some people have about 40k or so emails to respond to. So I've started responding to his non-questions, and without a return address, this is freeing--elderly might say i'm having a conversation with myself--knowing he could respond but expecting him not, 100% unfiltered spring water, the taste of speckled frogs, a residue of red leaves, earthier tasting than quinoa, without the fake sweet taste you sip from a fuji or smart water bottle. 

*is it a he? is his name j doe? if his name was j smith (like the examples when you make a new log-in), would he return all my emails *ahem* pseudo-voicemails?

When do letters become excessive--or something like a  performance--and at what point do they become art?

box of donuts post on it's way,
c

p.s. don't expect much folks, except a craving for jelly-filled sourdough bread fried donuts...just sayin'