Dear K-
You are not the first to have fallen in love with me over letters. I appear so much better on paper, it seems.
I know you don’t want me- you want the idea of me. And what a lovely idea I may appear, with all these frothy words at my lips floating away like sweet, opalescent soap bubbles into a still summer’s afternoon. You confess as Saint Augustine- not in love, but in love with the idea of love. I cannot blame you. Have I not found myself in a similar predicament before, loving the images I create in the cinema of my mind rather than fully recognizing the original model for what it is, for what it was…How could I ever live up to such fanciful whims?
I laugh when I’m nervous. I don’t sing well on command. I have a fear of flying, elevators, heights, but not necessarily in that order. Large crowds make me nervous. The idea of a picnic always seems so much better than the reality- eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a soggy lawn while trying to keep the wind from blowing my hair into my mouth while I take bites, all while fighting off the insects. I’m allergic to a laundry list of usually enjoyable ingredients. My curves are mostly bones. My hands and feet are always ice at night. I toss and turn and occasionally have insomnia. I can’t dance. My voice falters and my nerve pitters out on arguments, even if small. My heart doesn’t let me run like I used to. I am sarcastic, cynical, and frequently will not admit to my motives. I don’t like to discuss plans. I break promises and never commit. I am no perfect soul.
When you say it as you do, it all sounds lovely. But that’s a story book- and you can feel free to write me in however you see fit. I can be your heroine or I can be the shadow that falls upon the dust in the corner.
As I write this I am distracted by the frailty of life. I saw a man crack open the back of his skull outside the café this weekend. I had been there for several hours, quietly drinking my poison and studying proposed mechanisms of autoimmunity. I had noted him, but no more than I would note any other passing customer. I didn’t know that I would see his blood. I didn’t know that I’d see him lying prone upon the pavement, twitching as a scarlet puddle formed a halo beneath his head.
I watched as they rolled him onto a stretcher and they asked if I knew anything about him. Just a slow, solemn shake of the head-no words, just the universal, nonverbal sigh of “I don’t know”. It has been hard to concentrate on my work. All I could think as he shivered on the ground was “I wonder if he has incurred any macular vision loss from the blow to his occipital lobe. I wonder how long it will take before the platelets and fibrin form a clot. I wonder if woven bone will start to form to heal the fractures in his skull.”
I am not who you write about. I am a terrible person who wishes I could be all the things you say.
-K
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
These Are The Most Romantic Things I've Ever Said, And It Is The Whiskey Talking
My Dear K,
Let's get married to the idea of each other. I am in love with my picture of you. Sometimes romantically, sometimes not. We are never the same together as we are apart. How have we come this far with so much time and space between us? When I saw you this New Years Eve we talked very little, we caught up, but it wasn't enough.
I'm going to write some things now that might sound romantic but they are not. If you take my meaning as I wish to communicate it we will carry on as before, because none of what follows is really about you, but also, it is about you.
When I read your letters, I want to hold you and kiss your lips and feel your hair in my hands. I want the warmth of your body next to mine. I want the music of your awkward laugh in my ears. I want to lift you up and hold you there. I want to come home to you. I love you and everything you are. I imagine you in sunlight with green all around you. I imagine you in the dark, next to me, our breath hot on each other's necks. I see you in my dreams. I wait for you in empty rooms. I feel the space next to me in my empty bed and I feel the curves of your body that I've never felt. It feels like home. I want to walk with you in parks. I want to go on picnics in the rain with you. I want to hold an umbrella above you. I want to hold car doors open for you. I want to laugh at jokes only between us. I want to go to a distant land with you. I want to play chess. I want to drink with you. I want to laugh with you. I want to sing with you. I want to hear bands play music only for us. I want to kiss in the rain, and in the wind, and in the snow, and in sunlight. I want to feel your sweat. I want to hand you kleenexes when you sneeze. I want to say "Bless You". I want to hold back your hair when you vomit. I want to hold your hand as we wait for bad news from the doctor. I want only you to laugh at my jokes. I want to stand next to you and wash dishes. I want to plant a garden with you. I want to argue with you and know that the argument isn't bigger than us. I want to you to take care of me when I'm sick. I want ride the bus with you. I want to ride airplanes with you. I want to sit next to you when I'm old and look back on our lives and know that we lived them well. I want you to try and change me, and I want to resist. I want you to love me. I want you to wear dresses for me. I want to dance with you to songs we're too young to care about. I want to run through fields with you. I want to take a salsa dancing class with you when we fall into tired and boring routines. I never want us to fall into tired and boring routines. I want us to go on cruises and the whole time we'll talk about how nobody should ever go on cruises, because they're the worst. I want romance. I want life. I want love. I want these things, but none of them are you.
You are my friend and confidant, and my sounding board, my constant assurance in a sea of troubles. I want the woman from the letters, and you are not her. Perhaps no one can ever be her. She is a figment of our imagination. I want this relationship I have built with a person made of words. I want to put literature to the test. I want fairy tales to be real. I want love to be real. I want the neurons firing in my brain to mean something. I want something. I want everything. I want. I am wanting. I am waiting.
Do you understand what I am trying to say? Do you understand that aside from this whole post, I love everything that you are and will be? Do you understand that I mean all of this platonically? Do you understand that I feel like we are ships passing in the night? Do you understand that you mean so much to me, even though it will be days or weeks or months since we've communicated? Do you?
I hope you know how much you mean to me.
Even So Far Away,
K
Let's get married to the idea of each other. I am in love with my picture of you. Sometimes romantically, sometimes not. We are never the same together as we are apart. How have we come this far with so much time and space between us? When I saw you this New Years Eve we talked very little, we caught up, but it wasn't enough.
I'm going to write some things now that might sound romantic but they are not. If you take my meaning as I wish to communicate it we will carry on as before, because none of what follows is really about you, but also, it is about you.
When I read your letters, I want to hold you and kiss your lips and feel your hair in my hands. I want the warmth of your body next to mine. I want the music of your awkward laugh in my ears. I want to lift you up and hold you there. I want to come home to you. I love you and everything you are. I imagine you in sunlight with green all around you. I imagine you in the dark, next to me, our breath hot on each other's necks. I see you in my dreams. I wait for you in empty rooms. I feel the space next to me in my empty bed and I feel the curves of your body that I've never felt. It feels like home. I want to walk with you in parks. I want to go on picnics in the rain with you. I want to hold an umbrella above you. I want to hold car doors open for you. I want to laugh at jokes only between us. I want to go to a distant land with you. I want to play chess. I want to drink with you. I want to laugh with you. I want to sing with you. I want to hear bands play music only for us. I want to kiss in the rain, and in the wind, and in the snow, and in sunlight. I want to feel your sweat. I want to hand you kleenexes when you sneeze. I want to say "Bless You". I want to hold back your hair when you vomit. I want to hold your hand as we wait for bad news from the doctor. I want only you to laugh at my jokes. I want to stand next to you and wash dishes. I want to plant a garden with you. I want to argue with you and know that the argument isn't bigger than us. I want to you to take care of me when I'm sick. I want ride the bus with you. I want to ride airplanes with you. I want to sit next to you when I'm old and look back on our lives and know that we lived them well. I want you to try and change me, and I want to resist. I want you to love me. I want you to wear dresses for me. I want to dance with you to songs we're too young to care about. I want to run through fields with you. I want to take a salsa dancing class with you when we fall into tired and boring routines. I never want us to fall into tired and boring routines. I want us to go on cruises and the whole time we'll talk about how nobody should ever go on cruises, because they're the worst. I want romance. I want life. I want love. I want these things, but none of them are you.
You are my friend and confidant, and my sounding board, my constant assurance in a sea of troubles. I want the woman from the letters, and you are not her. Perhaps no one can ever be her. She is a figment of our imagination. I want this relationship I have built with a person made of words. I want to put literature to the test. I want fairy tales to be real. I want love to be real. I want the neurons firing in my brain to mean something. I want something. I want everything. I want. I am wanting. I am waiting.
Do you understand what I am trying to say? Do you understand that aside from this whole post, I love everything that you are and will be? Do you understand that I mean all of this platonically? Do you understand that I feel like we are ships passing in the night? Do you understand that you mean so much to me, even though it will be days or weeks or months since we've communicated? Do you?
I hope you know how much you mean to me.
Even So Far Away,
K
Sunday, January 8, 2012
a victim of a series of accidents, as are we all
Dear K-
Though still struggling with a sore throat, I am feeling happier. The days are chugging along as if powered by a mechanical conveyor belt- dragged forward in a never ceasing, steady progression mostly due to long days at work and busy nights. I haven’t spent much time in my apartment lately. I’ve been drifting.
Last night I went out to a smoky bar and chatted with a friendly bartender for a few hours, made a few whiskeys disappear, then trotted back home reeking of cigarettes and liquor. Smoking is banned from many establishments here in the city, so when I do happen to spend a night in a smoking-friendly environment I am reminded of how overwhelming it can be. My eyes water constantly and the scent lingers for days, despite showers and febreeze and laundry detergent. It’s a persistent reminder of the choices I make in the evening hours. But I still go to those bars, mostly because the bartender is nice and she shares my name, so there is that false psychological bond where one thinks more highly of someone due to a common trait. We also have long, double-jointed fingers and a shared appreciation of Jameson and PBR, but that’s another story.
So I appeared different when we met. For me the changes are so gradual that I don’t notice anything, besides something more drastic like when I dye my hair red. But it has faded to copper now- nothing too notable or comment-worthy. You seemed mostly unchanged, except perhaps bigger. I always forget people’s shapes and sizes- I have trouble with body images. In my mind I tend to neglect to include references to height, weight, mass, energy. You’re a fucking bear. I can’t describe it in any better way, and I don’t mean offense by it. I like comparing people to wild animals. You are a fucking bear.
I’d probably be a whip-poor-will.
-K
Though still struggling with a sore throat, I am feeling happier. The days are chugging along as if powered by a mechanical conveyor belt- dragged forward in a never ceasing, steady progression mostly due to long days at work and busy nights. I haven’t spent much time in my apartment lately. I’ve been drifting.
Last night I went out to a smoky bar and chatted with a friendly bartender for a few hours, made a few whiskeys disappear, then trotted back home reeking of cigarettes and liquor. Smoking is banned from many establishments here in the city, so when I do happen to spend a night in a smoking-friendly environment I am reminded of how overwhelming it can be. My eyes water constantly and the scent lingers for days, despite showers and febreeze and laundry detergent. It’s a persistent reminder of the choices I make in the evening hours. But I still go to those bars, mostly because the bartender is nice and she shares my name, so there is that false psychological bond where one thinks more highly of someone due to a common trait. We also have long, double-jointed fingers and a shared appreciation of Jameson and PBR, but that’s another story.
So I appeared different when we met. For me the changes are so gradual that I don’t notice anything, besides something more drastic like when I dye my hair red. But it has faded to copper now- nothing too notable or comment-worthy. You seemed mostly unchanged, except perhaps bigger. I always forget people’s shapes and sizes- I have trouble with body images. In my mind I tend to neglect to include references to height, weight, mass, energy. You’re a fucking bear. I can’t describe it in any better way, and I don’t mean offense by it. I like comparing people to wild animals. You are a fucking bear.
I’d probably be a whip-poor-will.
-K
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Up And Over We Go
Dear K
I will always like seeing you. I'll always be a little warmth in the cold. I can't be a roaring fire, but I'll serve to warm your hands and toes. I am glad we had those couple of minutes together, it meant a lot to see you and your new hair color. Had I changed at all?
Am I different every time you see me? Is this how our lives will be from now on? An annual sighting and a weekly letter? At least we'll have those things.
I am losing touch with people that I used to love. The distance is so strange. The times we all had shared, are locked away in my head. I'm just sort of drifting along in the dark up here. Like you would if you climbed around an attic filled with smoke, and I keep putting my feet through the floor.
Someday when you are healthy and ready, maybe you could come see me in my little city.
Regards,
K
I will always like seeing you. I'll always be a little warmth in the cold. I can't be a roaring fire, but I'll serve to warm your hands and toes. I am glad we had those couple of minutes together, it meant a lot to see you and your new hair color. Had I changed at all?
Am I different every time you see me? Is this how our lives will be from now on? An annual sighting and a weekly letter? At least we'll have those things.
I am losing touch with people that I used to love. The distance is so strange. The times we all had shared, are locked away in my head. I'm just sort of drifting along in the dark up here. Like you would if you climbed around an attic filled with smoke, and I keep putting my feet through the floor.
Someday when you are healthy and ready, maybe you could come see me in my little city.
Regards,
K
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
ships in the night
Dear K-
I apologize for my lack-luster performance at New Year’s. The only reason I really even bothered to venture out that evening was to say hello to you and also so I wouldn’t be “that girl” who spent her New Year’s Eve tucked under a comforter on her futon watching television by herself. In my defense, I did feel fairly miserable, with the lymph nodes in my neck swollen like golf balls and voice that rasped in and out of audition, but I still wanted to make an appearance. I was interested to see how I would get along with people of my past.
In honesty, I discovered that I don’t get along well, or at least not as well as I perhaps used to socialize with these friends. Granted, we haven’t seen each other in a long time, we’ve all moved along to our various new lives, and I was understandably not at my best. But still, I felt out of place. Not terribly or uncomfortably so, but I could tell that something just wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, except possibly my own. Even so, it was nice to have the night out and see old acquaintances, especially you. I could have spent seventy-five dollars on cover to get into a crowded bar where I knew no one’s name and wouldn’t remember anyone regardless, but I had a much better time playing board games in a cluttered apartment with a group of familiars.
Things have been better here. Having returned to the city I feel much better. Illinois brought only insomnia and self-imposed introversion. I am still physically unwell but emotionally much better, slowly recovering a bit more with each day. Not only have there been many friends in town to socialize with but I have actually felt compelled to go out and meet with them. It has been enjoyable.
Unfortunately, with all this new-found excitement there looms the knowledge that the winter intercession is creeping to a close, and soon I will return to my coursework and once again be lost to the world.
Ephemerally,
-K
I apologize for my lack-luster performance at New Year’s. The only reason I really even bothered to venture out that evening was to say hello to you and also so I wouldn’t be “that girl” who spent her New Year’s Eve tucked under a comforter on her futon watching television by herself. In my defense, I did feel fairly miserable, with the lymph nodes in my neck swollen like golf balls and voice that rasped in and out of audition, but I still wanted to make an appearance. I was interested to see how I would get along with people of my past.
In honesty, I discovered that I don’t get along well, or at least not as well as I perhaps used to socialize with these friends. Granted, we haven’t seen each other in a long time, we’ve all moved along to our various new lives, and I was understandably not at my best. But still, I felt out of place. Not terribly or uncomfortably so, but I could tell that something just wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, except possibly my own. Even so, it was nice to have the night out and see old acquaintances, especially you. I could have spent seventy-five dollars on cover to get into a crowded bar where I knew no one’s name and wouldn’t remember anyone regardless, but I had a much better time playing board games in a cluttered apartment with a group of familiars.
Things have been better here. Having returned to the city I feel much better. Illinois brought only insomnia and self-imposed introversion. I am still physically unwell but emotionally much better, slowly recovering a bit more with each day. Not only have there been many friends in town to socialize with but I have actually felt compelled to go out and meet with them. It has been enjoyable.
Unfortunately, with all this new-found excitement there looms the knowledge that the winter intercession is creeping to a close, and soon I will return to my coursework and once again be lost to the world.
Ephemerally,
-K
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