Dear Adam Read Online Free

conversation and laughed
     
    (@bookbohemian) too loudly in the
office.
     
    (@adamagelast) Glad to be of service, my
dear. If you give me your email address I'll send you a poem I
wrote.
     
    Not only a writer, but a poet. Looks be
damned. @adamagelast had her very much intrigued.
     
    (@adamagelast) It's something I do as a form
of self-medicating therapy.
    I never publish said poems.
     
    (@bookbohemian) If you want to share your
poetry, I'm at [email protected]. That would be a gift.
     
    (@adamagelast) I equally enjoyed it. Alas, I
shall retire to the land of sleep. I bid you farewell, my short
maiden. A bientot.
     
    Eden smiled. It felt like @adamagelast had
spotted her from across a crowded room, approached her, then
whisked her away to somewhere private where they could talk. And
now he had just asked for her number.

 
    Chapter 3
     
    Promptly the next morning, soon after she got
into work, Eden received an e-mail from Adam. The subject read, “A
Poem." Her excitement immediately turned to dread. What if his
poetry was terrible? Then she would have to politely lie and he’d
bombard her with more, each one worse than the last. She didn’t
want to open his e-mail now.
    She won’t lie. She’d just be respectfully
critical. Or be so reserved in her comments that he’d take the
hint.
    Resolved, she opened "A Poem."
     
    ----------
    From: Adam

    Date: Thu, Aug 2, at 9:09 AM
    To: Eden E.

     
    Multiple echelons of broken fabrics
    of society of love of hate of despair
    divided by greed and envy and air
    and the lights come on and off and on
    flickering and separated
    by man by animal by insect
    lost in lousiness and lust and
licentiousness
    lost, broken separated into
    days, pieces, groups, individuals
    intolerance and agony and celebrity
    everyone is crying and smiling
    the coffee is burning
    the cars are going by, bringing
nostalgia
    bringing pain and worry and concern and
fear
    of the unknown, of the known
    the men and the women
    the liars and the whores
    the stench is thickening as the brains are
thickening,
    and the old man asks me, if I have the
time.
     
    The entirety of Eden’s being sighed. She
would not have to delicately discourage Adam. His poem was raw and
pulsing, his voice, strong. His talent was so vigorously alive, it
was jumping off of the computer screen.
     
    ----------
    From: Eden E

    Date: Thu, Aug 2, at 9:20 AM
    To: Adam
     
    Would it bother you if I thought immediately
of T.S. Eliot - The Wasteland?
     
    I wish I could say this poem out loud (but
I'm in an office with others so I can't). But if I could, I suspect
that saying the list would reinforce the brokenness in the first
line.
     
    When did you write this and why? Were you in
the middle of busy city street all of sudden feeling lost and in
despair?
     
    ----------
    From: Adam -

    Date: Thu, Aug 2, at 9:28 AM
    To: Eden E
     
    I usually write poems when I experience
negative emotions. As I said yesterday, it's like therapy. I wrote
it a couple of months ago.
     
    It doesn't bother me. It's a compliment I
suppose.
     
    Eden looked at the files
on her desk, on
top of which was a particularly depressing one, with a defendant who was charged
with domestic violence with great bodily injury. He broke his
girlfriend’s arm during a fight. She could relate to the anger and
hopelessness in Adam's poems.
     
    ----------
    From: Eden E

    Date: Thu, Aug 2, at 9:40 AM
    To: Adam -
     
    When you write your poems, do your negative
emotions then become expunged? Do you truly believe that the world
is as bleak as this poem depicts?
     
    I’m working on a case right now which,
although not as ugly as some others I’ve come across, still makes
me angry. In my line of work, I often see the terrible side of
people.
     
    ----------
    From: Adam -

    Date: