dear reader,
the screen name purpleastoria was born out of two things i loved most: the color purple and belief in a universe beyond the one currently known and occupied. now, however, i am more of a pink-preferring girl and finding peace in a nebulous compressing sky has been long abandoned for the comfort sought right here on the ground; the earth below me moves and breathes mysteries and open-ended questions constantly.
i think i have outgrown purpleastoria.
but never you.
i will no longer update this blog but cannot delete it. purpleastoria is not my persona anymore but i would be betraying myself to deny the personal significance of what i've posted here.
the need to share my experiences creatively has led me to establish a new home for my writing:
murriedlife.wordpress.com
i hope you'll find me.
-a.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
13 September 2015
03 January 2014
anything but unlucky: 2013
dear reader,
happy new year to you. sincerely, thank you for catching up on my scattered ramblings. i wanted to post some reflections about this past year, which i have deemed 2013: the year the universe decided to test me and i passed (i think). if you know anything about me at all, you know that i constantly struggle with my unproductive flaws and ways to improve myself as a woman, a thinker, a friend, a breather of oxygen.
countdown, here we go.
13. i rarely bake or cook. call me lazy, or call me efficient: i prefer my foods simple (steamed vegetable of choice and boiled chicken with red curry sauce = weekly dinner option) and quickly thrown together. recipes that involve multiple verbs ("peel," "dice," "grate," "stir," "grease," "blend," and "combine" before i hit the second line) and ingredient lists longer than the contents of diet coke usually get filed and never used. but in 2013, my best friend introduced me to bountiful baskets (for $15, i was presented with a vegetable and a fruit basket containing fresh, seasonal produce) which has led to some fantastic new recipes. since i am not picky about veggies or fruit, each week's bounty was consumed in its entirety, since i hate waste and i was up for a new cooking challenge. i made turkey meatballs, roasted rainbow carrots with honey balsamic vinegar glaze, creamed corn and egg casserole with fresh anaheim peppers and ham, kale and sweet potato salad, mashed cauliflower with toasted breadcrumbs and parmesan, and many flavorful additions to my morning protein shake (fresh mango, pear, pomegranate, bananas, and blueberries).
12. exploring the northwest this past year has made me appreciate how lucky i am to choose whether i want to wake up to the hum of car tires on blacktop and never lose sight of building lights on rooftops or if my afternoon walk involves a lakeside mountain goat and finding sleeping bats nestled in rafters. in 2013, i roadtripped to montana, washington, and utah.
11. my annual closet purge revealed that i own so many beautiful clothing items and accessories-- each carrying a story about where i found it, how i wore it, and how much i really love getting ready in the morning to greet the world with an a-line jersey knit skirt or a lace peplum top or a studded gold bangle on my wrist.
10. very few people understand me and i am still in the process of accepting that i am mostly to blame for keeping secrets but finding a comfortable way to change how i interact with people (mainly of the opposite gender). so even though i consider myself truly close to a just handful of guys, 2013 severed my ties with two important people; shattering my idealization of a role model and friend in one case forced me to take a step back and question how, once again, i could so stupidly fail the test of finding a trustworthy, decent partner. i continue to struggle with letting go, removing the harsh personal blame and unnecessary guilt, and coming to terms with the idea that i am what x wants but not who he chooses. but i do not deserve to be pitted against petty, dependent bitches; so i move on.
9. my two best friends both had babies in september. ty and nancy are so very fortunate to be born into loving, supportive families with friends that loved them before they even met.
8. 2013 was the year of my lips taking center stage. lipstick, lip gloss, lip balm, lip crayon: the collection amasses.
7. for the first time ever, my alcoholic drink of choice is a glass of wine. while i prefer the sweet, preferably lightly carbonated wines, i really enjoy a cab with dinner. i tasted my first syrah, malbec, and viognier in 2013 and am excited to participate in the accessible sophistication of being deemed a wino.
6. i indulged in young adult fiction in 2013. if you know anything about me, you know that i pride myself in being a critic, a naysayer, and stubbornly refusing to "like" popular writing and movies. something changed this year, reader, and i found myself enjoying the hunger games series and pretty much anything written or inspired by john green. this is really a.big.deal.
5. i've always been a fan of makeup. what's not to love about shimmering eyeshadow or a new tube of mascara that never clumps? but in 2013, i realized i was definitely on the downward slope to 30 years old, and i decided to focus on a skincare regimen. during a mary kay make up demo, the rep stated, "it's easier to prevent than it is to reverse," and i suddenly imagined my face covered in little cornflakes needing to be microdermabrasion'ed the hell off of my skin. i suppose 28 years old isn't a terrible age to hopefully preserve a little of my youth even though my freckles and oddly placed facial moles continue to cause me great consternation.
4. my kia died by exploding the heater core and flooding the floor while i was at work. a tree fell on my new car. a giant nail lodged itself into my car tire. i am cursed with automobile issues, but 2013 taught me to be thankful and appreciate people with car-fixing skills. i have my talents and hobbies, but none of them are mechanically-based; i am so thankful that other people are good at what i am not and their passion helps people like me who ask google "why is my car flooded?" or "siri, directions to les schwab."
3. selfies were out of control this year, reader. i will never be able to forget what i looked like in 2013 from a variety of angles in different reflective surfaces.
2. my reputation for shirking any love interests peaked in 2013. my friends send me text messages with anti-love sentiments that remind them of me. but, even though i rarely talk about my intimate personal life, this past year was filled with interesting people, stories, and memories (some excellent and some irritating) that should be preserved in serifs or pixels-- someday.
1. as i look ahead to 2014, i am overwhelmed with thankfulness. i still feel young-- even if i am not anymore. physically, i am as strong as ever (who would have EVER though i would be the most athletic in my group of frieds-- of course, "athletic" is loosely applied). i wallow less in apathy and don't cry (regularly) in the shower anymore. my friends are varied and few but still just as amazing as ever. in 2014, i hope to exude a positive attitude of openness, willingness, and acceptance to continue to explore this simultaneously cruddy and intriguing world around me. invite me to share your joys too, reader.
your move, 2014. i'm ready.
31 May 2013
dear x: begin again
dear x,
i began my journey of over-sharing to determine if i am capable of feeling love. i knew by doing so that i would resurrect reserved memories and expose some of you in the process. while i will admit that my love letters were not as productive as i initially hoped, i am so overwhelmed with a range of emotions for you-- and for the future.
perhaps it is too easy to blame my unwillingness to open up to new potential x's because of you. you, x, after all, lied to me, said crushing things, changed your mind, and left me-- in some way-- alone. you have helped create this psyche, this outlook, this worth, this self,
until i realized it's time to take ownership of my past, and that means you, x. you happened. i will never be the same. but at the end of the day, or at the first morning yawn, you are stagnant; ever effacing; past. writing to you this month has brought me some closure by materializing (as much as an internet blog post can do) my feelings and allowing an audience to empathize with a rarely deeply discussed sector of my life, body, and mind.
thank you, dear readers, for working through my love letters with me; maybe you have reflected on what has brought you to this point in your own life-- and who you do and don't share those experiences with now.
i suppose what remains is acceptance. dear x, i know everything happens for a reason. i can't deny how empty i feel at times, as if my ribs are parentheses bearing a dull heart that pitters listlessly and patters unfulfilled. but capturing some of those moments with you in these entries lets me relive and acknowledge what once made me happy; and what is love if not to share joy with and for someone. while simply stating that i forgive you and you are eternally free from the prison of my darkened mind is just not possible, i do however, x, agree to start letting go.
of what was.
of what could have been.
and perhaps releasing the bitterness and sadness and jadedness will generate space for someone who will see the fingerprints you left on my heart but who will surprise me by sailing away with me on the tide that gently slips over those grooves-- dispersing your memories into the swells that carry us into the horizon, enchanted.
love,
a.
i almost brought him up
but you start to talk about the movies
that your family watches every single christmas
so i won't talk about that
for the first time
what's passed is
past
i began my journey of over-sharing to determine if i am capable of feeling love. i knew by doing so that i would resurrect reserved memories and expose some of you in the process. while i will admit that my love letters were not as productive as i initially hoped, i am so overwhelmed with a range of emotions for you-- and for the future.
perhaps it is too easy to blame my unwillingness to open up to new potential x's because of you. you, x, after all, lied to me, said crushing things, changed your mind, and left me-- in some way-- alone. you have helped create this psyche, this outlook, this worth, this self,
until i realized it's time to take ownership of my past, and that means you, x. you happened. i will never be the same. but at the end of the day, or at the first morning yawn, you are stagnant; ever effacing; past. writing to you this month has brought me some closure by materializing (as much as an internet blog post can do) my feelings and allowing an audience to empathize with a rarely deeply discussed sector of my life, body, and mind.
thank you, dear readers, for working through my love letters with me; maybe you have reflected on what has brought you to this point in your own life-- and who you do and don't share those experiences with now.
i suppose what remains is acceptance. dear x, i know everything happens for a reason. i can't deny how empty i feel at times, as if my ribs are parentheses bearing a dull heart that pitters listlessly and patters unfulfilled. but capturing some of those moments with you in these entries lets me relive and acknowledge what once made me happy; and what is love if not to share joy with and for someone. while simply stating that i forgive you and you are eternally free from the prison of my darkened mind is just not possible, i do however, x, agree to start letting go.
of what was.
of what could have been.
and perhaps releasing the bitterness and sadness and jadedness will generate space for someone who will see the fingerprints you left on my heart but who will surprise me by sailing away with me on the tide that gently slips over those grooves-- dispersing your memories into the swells that carry us into the horizon, enchanted.
love,
a.
i almost brought him up
but you start to talk about the movies
that your family watches every single christmas
so i won't talk about that
for the first time
what's passed is
past
30 May 2013
dear x: go your own way
dear x,
you know in movies when two lovers part and there's a slow motion shot of one of them walking away in the rain and the other squints through the raindrops and the walker turns around to see if lover is watching and they catch each others' backs instead? and you're like, why.
i wish we could have been so lucky. they at least had closure through the pleading stares and quivering mouths.
instead, there was.
and then there wasn't.
at least if i had that last glance out the window as you drove away, and you caught my parted lips and fingernail biting in your rearview mirror--
or listening to the soft pads of your footsteps in the linoleum hallway, and that hard lump in my throat grew tighter with the fading decrescendo of your steps and slight drag of your left foot--
instead, saying goodbye was like i dove underwater, distracted with sensory images and the rush of cool over my skin, as i looked up at you through the ripples; and as the light cut through the current, i watched your transient shape distort into nothing but crests and eddies upon surfacing. i took my first breath and broke at the empty silence of your absence.
this love letter asks you to find me, before someone else does. sometimes i forget that you don't know this, because you don't read my letters or listen to the song in my heart that hums against my ribcage every evening for you.
perhaps, given the opportunity, i would not greet you again, sweeping my dripping black hair from my eyes as i emerged from the water, reaching for your hand to pull me up, inhaling how your skin smells in sunlight--
because to say hello would only tempt another painful goodbye to your ghost.
love,
a.
tell me why
everything turned around
you know in movies when two lovers part and there's a slow motion shot of one of them walking away in the rain and the other squints through the raindrops and the walker turns around to see if lover is watching and they catch each others' backs instead? and you're like, why.
i wish we could have been so lucky. they at least had closure through the pleading stares and quivering mouths.
instead, there was.
and then there wasn't.
at least if i had that last glance out the window as you drove away, and you caught my parted lips and fingernail biting in your rearview mirror--
or listening to the soft pads of your footsteps in the linoleum hallway, and that hard lump in my throat grew tighter with the fading decrescendo of your steps and slight drag of your left foot--
instead, saying goodbye was like i dove underwater, distracted with sensory images and the rush of cool over my skin, as i looked up at you through the ripples; and as the light cut through the current, i watched your transient shape distort into nothing but crests and eddies upon surfacing. i took my first breath and broke at the empty silence of your absence.
this love letter asks you to find me, before someone else does. sometimes i forget that you don't know this, because you don't read my letters or listen to the song in my heart that hums against my ribcage every evening for you.
perhaps, given the opportunity, i would not greet you again, sweeping my dripping black hair from my eyes as i emerged from the water, reaching for your hand to pull me up, inhaling how your skin smells in sunlight--
because to say hello would only tempt another painful goodbye to your ghost.
love,
a.
tell me why
everything turned around
28 May 2013
dear x: down
dear x,
you don't know this but i send you love letters every day:
in the dandelion puffs floating through the afternoon air, a secret wish attached to each brown seed.
with each brush stroke through my inky hair, taming the strands after their fiery dance with the dryer to look polished and smooth.
at the turn of each doorknob, a quick inhaled breath to hold back disappointment when i know you're not on the other side.
on the road, my bike tires hum with velocity-- calling out a gearsong, hoping you'll recognize its pattern and meet up after the next hill.
against flannel sheets at 3 am, my cheek brushes against cold pillow and i sigh with solitude and sleep.
between the tap of each keyboard character, my forefingers still remember tracing the moles on your back.
before i almost surrender to the silence of lacking emotions and feelings for anyone else, i mouth the words "i love you" silently, wondering if the tiniest motion of my lips will decorate the evening air, tiptoe in shadow to your end of the city, and come to rest upon your forehead-- so slightly you think perhaps a breeze snuck through your windowpanes.
love,
a.
you don't know this but i send you love letters every day:
in the dandelion puffs floating through the afternoon air, a secret wish attached to each brown seed.
with each brush stroke through my inky hair, taming the strands after their fiery dance with the dryer to look polished and smooth.
at the turn of each doorknob, a quick inhaled breath to hold back disappointment when i know you're not on the other side.
on the road, my bike tires hum with velocity-- calling out a gearsong, hoping you'll recognize its pattern and meet up after the next hill.
against flannel sheets at 3 am, my cheek brushes against cold pillow and i sigh with solitude and sleep.
between the tap of each keyboard character, my forefingers still remember tracing the moles on your back.
before i almost surrender to the silence of lacking emotions and feelings for anyone else, i mouth the words "i love you" silently, wondering if the tiniest motion of my lips will decorate the evening air, tiptoe in shadow to your end of the city, and come to rest upon your forehead-- so slightly you think perhaps a breeze snuck through your windowpanes.
love,
a.
i'll try to kiss you if you let me
this can't be the end
25 May 2013
dear x: use your love
dear x,
i am writing you this love letter because you deserve one. i met you at the worst yet perfect time-- for me. for eight months, i soaked my self-esteem with your admiration and never asked you to hold back. sometimes, i think karma is still raking away at my world for what i did-- or didn't-- feel for and say to you. but your niceness exhausted me. your compliments about my academic accomplishments or my hair accessories leached any available sentimentality out of my heart; i felt continuously taxed to return your praise and affection. so i did what i consider to be my second best skill: i shut down.
i can go on and on about the jerks i've met. you are not one of them-- not even close. you cooked me dinner with vegetables from your garden. you spent hours with me at the zoo so i could walk through the butterfly exhibit and painstakingly take photos of every. single. animal. you asked me thoughtful questions and listened to my answers. you embraced me so snugly, with seemingly endless arms and hands and wrists and biceps, that i think i know what it would be like to sleep next to an octopus. but i felt nothing for you. and you never asked or complained, which just made spending time at your mom's house or eating dinner with your roommate or watching you play with your chinchilla even more maddening for my heart.
dear x, you are the handsomest boy to ever don a suit vest with skinny jeans. but there's a difference between logic and feeling, reason and emotion, truth and love. someday i hope to pass by you relaxing on the patio of your favorite bistro, sitting across from a fashionable and intelligent heiress, dreaming up weekend adventures from books you've read with your hands entwined, like little cups holding sunsets and laughter from dances across your kitchen floor.
love,
a.
i am writing you this love letter because you deserve one. i met you at the worst yet perfect time-- for me. for eight months, i soaked my self-esteem with your admiration and never asked you to hold back. sometimes, i think karma is still raking away at my world for what i did-- or didn't-- feel for and say to you. but your niceness exhausted me. your compliments about my academic accomplishments or my hair accessories leached any available sentimentality out of my heart; i felt continuously taxed to return your praise and affection. so i did what i consider to be my second best skill: i shut down.
i can go on and on about the jerks i've met. you are not one of them-- not even close. you cooked me dinner with vegetables from your garden. you spent hours with me at the zoo so i could walk through the butterfly exhibit and painstakingly take photos of every. single. animal. you asked me thoughtful questions and listened to my answers. you embraced me so snugly, with seemingly endless arms and hands and wrists and biceps, that i think i know what it would be like to sleep next to an octopus. but i felt nothing for you. and you never asked or complained, which just made spending time at your mom's house or eating dinner with your roommate or watching you play with your chinchilla even more maddening for my heart.
dear x, you are the handsomest boy to ever don a suit vest with skinny jeans. but there's a difference between logic and feeling, reason and emotion, truth and love. someday i hope to pass by you relaxing on the patio of your favorite bistro, sitting across from a fashionable and intelligent heiress, dreaming up weekend adventures from books you've read with your hands entwined, like little cups holding sunsets and laughter from dances across your kitchen floor.
love,
a.
i'll tell you all my secrets if you stick around
the undercover lover's under the covers
24 May 2013
dear x: sparks fly
dear x,
writing about you has allowed me to live in two separate worlds this month: the past and the present. i lived this once, love; and now, by smashing memories into typed characters i live again.
there are some experiences i would live over and over if i could. the problem lately is that i am distracted by your ghost in this room, therefore i fail to be present wholly anywhere, and i cheat myself of enjoying simplicity or complexity-- always wishing that you could be here too. so now my experiences are sort of halved, cheapened, incomplete.
i am writing you this love letter, x, to share these gigantic suitcases of memories that i lug with me, up stairs, in the rain, across states, outside your workplace, down the abyss that occupies so many of my solitary moments. wont you please take some baggage and unzip compartments and sort with me?
here, that shirt is from the first time i spent the night with you at your new house. we split a bottle of white zin, listened to music through your television, and actually said goodnight in person. you kissed my shoulder and whispered, "youre so cute" as i fell asleep and dreamed about fish.
oh look, i wore those earrings the night you told me you we could never just be friends. "you have bows in your ears," you said, as you played with my hair.
that, that is the perfume i bought a few days before you stayed at my place for a few weeks. spray it a bit; smelling it reminds me of sitting around my coffee table in the evenings watching archer and you said, "i usually cant be around people for very long, but i dont know. i like being with you." and then we talked about movies and i liked how your forearm felt under mine.
and then theres the empty suitcase. you found that. i bring that with me wherever i go, just in case you decide to come back. i can fill it with new memories. its silly, i knew youd think so. but its here, always, so that i can be ready.
im still here.
love,
a.
lead me up the staircase
(absolutely love this cover of one of my swifty favorites)
writing about you has allowed me to live in two separate worlds this month: the past and the present. i lived this once, love; and now, by smashing memories into typed characters i live again.
there are some experiences i would live over and over if i could. the problem lately is that i am distracted by your ghost in this room, therefore i fail to be present wholly anywhere, and i cheat myself of enjoying simplicity or complexity-- always wishing that you could be here too. so now my experiences are sort of halved, cheapened, incomplete.
i am writing you this love letter, x, to share these gigantic suitcases of memories that i lug with me, up stairs, in the rain, across states, outside your workplace, down the abyss that occupies so many of my solitary moments. wont you please take some baggage and unzip compartments and sort with me?
here, that shirt is from the first time i spent the night with you at your new house. we split a bottle of white zin, listened to music through your television, and actually said goodnight in person. you kissed my shoulder and whispered, "youre so cute" as i fell asleep and dreamed about fish.
oh look, i wore those earrings the night you told me you we could never just be friends. "you have bows in your ears," you said, as you played with my hair.
that, that is the perfume i bought a few days before you stayed at my place for a few weeks. spray it a bit; smelling it reminds me of sitting around my coffee table in the evenings watching archer and you said, "i usually cant be around people for very long, but i dont know. i like being with you." and then we talked about movies and i liked how your forearm felt under mine.
and then theres the empty suitcase. you found that. i bring that with me wherever i go, just in case you decide to come back. i can fill it with new memories. its silly, i knew youd think so. but its here, always, so that i can be ready.
im still here.
love,
a.
lead me up the staircase
won't you whisper soft and slow
i'm captivated by you, baby,
like a fireworks show
(absolutely love this cover of one of my swifty favorites)
22 May 2013
dear x: animal
dear x,
so many of these stories take place in a bar or in a dark bedroom. this one begins in between.
i am writing you this love letter, x, because not many boys would walk miles with me, aimlessly strolling the sprinkler-flooded, unevenly patched streets of boise on an unusually warm may night. but you did, laughing at my awkward self-deprecating jabs and mild aversion to encountering midnight wildlife in your neighbor's garbage.
when i agreed to keep walking, you said, "but it's really far." as if my feet submitted to a curfew, a contrived limit, a sense of finality. i suppose, x, you didnt know that our stroll odometer measured arm brushes, how many times i could smell you in the evening air, and no yawns-- and not in kilometers or how many hours left until my alarm interrupted your embrace.
love,
a.
i'm not asleep
so many of these stories take place in a bar or in a dark bedroom. this one begins in between.
i am writing you this love letter, x, because not many boys would walk miles with me, aimlessly strolling the sprinkler-flooded, unevenly patched streets of boise on an unusually warm may night. but you did, laughing at my awkward self-deprecating jabs and mild aversion to encountering midnight wildlife in your neighbor's garbage.
when i agreed to keep walking, you said, "but it's really far." as if my feet submitted to a curfew, a contrived limit, a sense of finality. i suppose, x, you didnt know that our stroll odometer measured arm brushes, how many times i could smell you in the evening air, and no yawns-- and not in kilometers or how many hours left until my alarm interrupted your embrace.
love,
a.
i'm not asleep
i'm up for the fight
into the magic
i don't want the concrete
i am alive comes with the tragic
i am alive comes with the tragic
21 May 2013
dear x: back to black
dear x,
maybe it was the way you smiled under the parking lot lights. maybe it was the way you tucked me under a fleece blanket and kissed my nose. maybe it was the way you promised to be a safe spot for me to vent, to escape, to disappear.
but then you met her and all your warm comfort was replaced with disillusionment, like screaming in an empty room that doesn't echo.
you said i was pretty but she must be prettier.
you said i was smart but she must be smarter.
you said lying in bed with me was cozy but she must be the finest log cabin.
you said you were never going back to her but she must be capable of rewriting "the end" to "once upon a time."
you said you thought about me every day but she must be more enticing flesh and dreams.
you said i dont know how to let go of the past but she must be a beautiful present and future for you.
you said my skin was soft but she must make your fingertips tingle and sing.
you said nothing compares to me but she must be the immeasurably obvious choice, a crushing victor who has instilled a weighty insecurity in my mind-- can i look in the mirror and not wonder if it was my small hands, my short legs, my proclivity to doubt, my freckles that might have precluded me from tipping the scales?
you said i deserve the best but she must be settling for you then.
love,
a.
he left no time to regret
maybe it was the way you smiled under the parking lot lights. maybe it was the way you tucked me under a fleece blanket and kissed my nose. maybe it was the way you promised to be a safe spot for me to vent, to escape, to disappear.
but then you met her and all your warm comfort was replaced with disillusionment, like screaming in an empty room that doesn't echo.
you said i was pretty but she must be prettier.
you said i was smart but she must be smarter.
you said lying in bed with me was cozy but she must be the finest log cabin.
you said you were never going back to her but she must be capable of rewriting "the end" to "once upon a time."
you said you thought about me every day but she must be more enticing flesh and dreams.
you said i dont know how to let go of the past but she must be a beautiful present and future for you.
you said my skin was soft but she must make your fingertips tingle and sing.
you said nothing compares to me but she must be the immeasurably obvious choice, a crushing victor who has instilled a weighty insecurity in my mind-- can i look in the mirror and not wonder if it was my small hands, my short legs, my proclivity to doubt, my freckles that might have precluded me from tipping the scales?
you said i deserve the best but she must be settling for you then.
love,
a.
he left no time to regret
kept his dick wet
with his same old safe bet
20 May 2013
dear x: the boy who blocked his own shot
dear x,
sometimes i wonder if you saw the sunset. maybe you watched the clouds around the sun fade from brilliant gold to murky lemonade to dark.
sometimes i wonder if your shoe caught on the edge too, where carpet meets linoleum in the airport terminal after the security checkpoint.
do you still eat taco bell at midnight? do you prefer mountain dew to dr. pepper? do you indulge in a few chocolate covered raisins, or have you deemed twix your favorite candy?
sometimes i wonder if you need me and then don't.
sometimes i wonder if you fill your hours distracting yourself from wanting to share little moments with me-- like we used to. i am terrified, x, of quietly losing small things to my memory. i will probably remember all the big milestones; but what about those collective fragments of time that just slip away, like shedding a strand of hair at the supermarket.
sometimes i think i smell you in the middle of the night. i am writing you this love letter, x, to let your shadow of love lost know this: i am often consumed by the details and my inability to share with you the simultaneously mundane and brilliant. i fear the day when i wont remember how your skin smells after a shower.
love,
a.
so get a grip
sometimes i wonder if you saw the sunset. maybe you watched the clouds around the sun fade from brilliant gold to murky lemonade to dark.
sometimes i wonder if your shoe caught on the edge too, where carpet meets linoleum in the airport terminal after the security checkpoint.
do you still eat taco bell at midnight? do you prefer mountain dew to dr. pepper? do you indulge in a few chocolate covered raisins, or have you deemed twix your favorite candy?
sometimes i wonder if you need me and then don't.
sometimes i wonder if you fill your hours distracting yourself from wanting to share little moments with me-- like we used to. i am terrified, x, of quietly losing small things to my memory. i will probably remember all the big milestones; but what about those collective fragments of time that just slip away, like shedding a strand of hair at the supermarket.
sometimes i think i smell you in the middle of the night. i am writing you this love letter, x, to let your shadow of love lost know this: i am often consumed by the details and my inability to share with you the simultaneously mundane and brilliant. i fear the day when i wont remember how your skin smells after a shower.
love,
a.
so get a grip
or call it quits
said you wanted a solution
you just wanted to be missed
19 May 2013
dear x: come on get higher
dear x,
when people are in love, they celebrate their firsts: first date, first kiss, first house, first baby. when people like me lose people like you, they mourn their lasts:
the last time i heard you laugh, your cell phone rang and interrupted your piano playing (a rather melodramatic piece from the "lord of the rings" soundtrack). i heard you ask hello, followed by a brief silence, and then you erupted into a loud, resonating laughter. i am so glad, x, that that last hearty laugh was filled with your sincere happiness.
the last drink we shared together, you poured me a healthy glass of grape vodka over ice while you sipped on some gin. we sat on the old blue comforter from your bed and watched "little miss sunshine." the fan overhead rustled the living room curtains, and my cheeks flushed from the room heat and alcohol.
the last words you said to me directly were, "i am going home in a few days. but when i get back, don't be here." you banished me from our hallway, never again to watch your shadows dart under the door as you walked by in the morning. you didn't care where i slept at night, as long as our toothbrushes weren't stored together and i took my coffee table with me.
the last time we were in the same room, i attended a poetry reading at a wine shop after i graduated. you introduced the readers, speaking slowly and nervously into a microphone. your words sounded rehearsed as i feigned interest in a nebulous object slightly above your head. i resisted the urge to wonder when you had purchased the blue button down dress shirt that you wore that evening.
the last email you sent me was a department meeting announcement. i was just another cc, another itemized address on your list, another person you reached out to only to receive fewer replies than questions. reading your name at the bottom of a carefully worded form letter made me realize how foreign you were about to become-- we would exist separately, each like a chapter in different books on unrelated subjects resting on library shelves three thousand miles apart.
the last time that i will tell you that i loved you is here in this love letter, x. i loved you, i am certain. and i miss you-- so much that it hurts-- but you moved on and it's time for me to do the same. i wish you a lifetime of encapsulated poetry, that each new first is an enchanting and inspiring moment for you.
because loving you was my last.
love,
a.
when people are in love, they celebrate their firsts: first date, first kiss, first house, first baby. when people like me lose people like you, they mourn their lasts:
the last time i heard you laugh, your cell phone rang and interrupted your piano playing (a rather melodramatic piece from the "lord of the rings" soundtrack). i heard you ask hello, followed by a brief silence, and then you erupted into a loud, resonating laughter. i am so glad, x, that that last hearty laugh was filled with your sincere happiness.
the last drink we shared together, you poured me a healthy glass of grape vodka over ice while you sipped on some gin. we sat on the old blue comforter from your bed and watched "little miss sunshine." the fan overhead rustled the living room curtains, and my cheeks flushed from the room heat and alcohol.
the last words you said to me directly were, "i am going home in a few days. but when i get back, don't be here." you banished me from our hallway, never again to watch your shadows dart under the door as you walked by in the morning. you didn't care where i slept at night, as long as our toothbrushes weren't stored together and i took my coffee table with me.
the last time we were in the same room, i attended a poetry reading at a wine shop after i graduated. you introduced the readers, speaking slowly and nervously into a microphone. your words sounded rehearsed as i feigned interest in a nebulous object slightly above your head. i resisted the urge to wonder when you had purchased the blue button down dress shirt that you wore that evening.
the last email you sent me was a department meeting announcement. i was just another cc, another itemized address on your list, another person you reached out to only to receive fewer replies than questions. reading your name at the bottom of a carefully worded form letter made me realize how foreign you were about to become-- we would exist separately, each like a chapter in different books on unrelated subjects resting on library shelves three thousand miles apart.
the last time that i will tell you that i loved you is here in this love letter, x. i loved you, i am certain. and i miss you-- so much that it hurts-- but you moved on and it's time for me to do the same. i wish you a lifetime of encapsulated poetry, that each new first is an enchanting and inspiring moment for you.
because loving you was my last.
love,
a.
and i ache to remember
all the violent
sweet
perfect
words that you said
18 May 2013
dear x: in pieces
dear x,
when i started this challenge, there were two very specific people for whom i would not write. let me make this clear: this is not a love letter because, honestly, i wish-- with everything i've known, do know, and will know-- that i had never met you and subsequently am repulsed by any memory of you.
but it took an episode of "glee" and a scene between quinn and shelby to procure some serious feels this morning that prompted me to reflect and share. i have spent the last few years in self-quarantine, because i am afraid of ever being stupid enough to allow myself to be glamoured into trusting someone as shallow and cruel as you. i let you bully me into considering that i was less of a person because i am not like every other girl you know; i'm not dependent or conventional--for better or worse-- and you continually suggested that i have been and always will be a disappointment to my family, friends, gender, race-- species-- because i say no to thunder.
you shoved me into a corner and expected me to fall in love with you. i didn't. you forced me to make choices and i truly believe i did the best i could. i made mistakes as a child, i was 23, and the secrets haunt me. i allowed your poisonous seeds to germinate and take root in my mind, now so deeply implanted in my own self-view and self-worth.
to dive into nothingness, into the abyss, into the recessive dark-- is to place myself into that wretched corner that i still struggle with. i tiptoe to it and curl into the fetal position. but it's time to recognize that letting go of the anger and shame is not the same as surrendering.
you are unforgivable.
but that doesn't mean i am.
without a trace of love,
a.
when i started this challenge, there were two very specific people for whom i would not write. let me make this clear: this is not a love letter because, honestly, i wish-- with everything i've known, do know, and will know-- that i had never met you and subsequently am repulsed by any memory of you.
but it took an episode of "glee" and a scene between quinn and shelby to procure some serious feels this morning that prompted me to reflect and share. i have spent the last few years in self-quarantine, because i am afraid of ever being stupid enough to allow myself to be glamoured into trusting someone as shallow and cruel as you. i let you bully me into considering that i was less of a person because i am not like every other girl you know; i'm not dependent or conventional--for better or worse-- and you continually suggested that i have been and always will be a disappointment to my family, friends, gender, race-- species-- because i say no to thunder.
you shoved me into a corner and expected me to fall in love with you. i didn't. you forced me to make choices and i truly believe i did the best i could. i made mistakes as a child, i was 23, and the secrets haunt me. i allowed your poisonous seeds to germinate and take root in my mind, now so deeply implanted in my own self-view and self-worth.
to dive into nothingness, into the abyss, into the recessive dark-- is to place myself into that wretched corner that i still struggle with. i tiptoe to it and curl into the fetal position. but it's time to recognize that letting go of the anger and shame is not the same as surrendering.
you are unforgivable.
but that doesn't mean i am.
without a trace of love,
a.
you wrap me in your arms
and chill me to the bone
17 May 2013
dear x: little lion man
dear x,
i will probably never be happy.
but i know-- i know, x-- that i will never be happy without you. so just stop wasting our time and realize that you should be spending your afternoons with me, bound for the horizon and singing your favorite song against my neck. today was one of those perfect days that we will be nostalgic for, years from now; i'll show you the pictures of today's morning rainstorm and the spring afternoon sunshine and us holding hands under a cloudless evening sky.
the heartbreaking reality is, x, that this love letter is too late. we passed the point, so long ago now, of finding safety and comfort in each others' company. i know you're thinking of her. you know i'm remembering my world before you. but you know it's conceiving of a world without that makes me heavy with melancholy and blame.
love,
a.
i really fucked it up this time
didn't i, my dear?
13 May 2013
dear x: i knew you were trouble
dear x,
i lied about pretty much everything. except my name. and that i live in boise. i am writing you this love letter to come clean.
i lied when i said i don't feel things. when you called me a sad little girl, the truth of your insult reverberated among my rib cage. when you threw your head back and laughed at my request for the truth about the thin blond hairs on your bathroom floor, my skull buzzed with nerves and rage.
i lied when i said that relationships are too much work. bad ones definitely are; i became sick with paranoia that you existed in a different world without me-- one with her. one where you talk about prufock & the scarlet letter with me-- and one where you fall asleep next to a girl who still posts pictures of you on facebook with clever captions and inside jokes.
i lied, x, about liking your paris hilton poem. i lied about finding your inability to choose a first name endearing. i lied about preferring to be alone-- i would have loved to feel your fingers tapping a beat to some indie song on my thigh as we watched a movie on my loveseat and drank JD straight from the bottle.
i lied about needing you. i lied when i implied "go away" was synonymous with "i don't care."
the tragedy of it all, x, is that i lied then and still think about it. but you, you lied then and lied so well that i can't tell the difference anymore between his sincerity and his omissions-- because you let me blur that line of reality for myself.
and i am so sorry.
or is that a lie too?
love,
a.
and the saddest fear comes creeping in
i lied about pretty much everything. except my name. and that i live in boise. i am writing you this love letter to come clean.
i lied when i said i don't feel things. when you called me a sad little girl, the truth of your insult reverberated among my rib cage. when you threw your head back and laughed at my request for the truth about the thin blond hairs on your bathroom floor, my skull buzzed with nerves and rage.
i lied when i said that relationships are too much work. bad ones definitely are; i became sick with paranoia that you existed in a different world without me-- one with her. one where you talk about prufock & the scarlet letter with me-- and one where you fall asleep next to a girl who still posts pictures of you on facebook with clever captions and inside jokes.
i lied, x, about liking your paris hilton poem. i lied about finding your inability to choose a first name endearing. i lied about preferring to be alone-- i would have loved to feel your fingers tapping a beat to some indie song on my thigh as we watched a movie on my loveseat and drank JD straight from the bottle.
i lied about needing you. i lied when i implied "go away" was synonymous with "i don't care."
the tragedy of it all, x, is that i lied then and still think about it. but you, you lied then and lied so well that i can't tell the difference anymore between his sincerity and his omissions-- because you let me blur that line of reality for myself.
and i am so sorry.
or is that a lie too?
love,
a.
and the saddest fear comes creeping in
that you never loved me
or her
or anyone
or anything
12 May 2013
dear x: you are my sunshine
dear x,
we sat around a bonfire pit: you held a bottle of gordon's and a menthol in one hand and i sat cross legged in a splintery wooden chair. the crackling dance of orange flames had already settled but the glowing embers still licked furiously at my cheeks and eyelashes. the night before, we tried holding hands on your couch "just to see" if either of us could feel anything other than apathy towards another person. we mutually postponed our conclusions.
i thought, maybe we should return to our discussion.
i inhaled; my exhales were staccato and hesitant.
i smelled my hair.
i inhaled again.
and then you started whistling. you licked your lips. the tone was shrill. i recognized the tune after you finished the second measure of the chorus. i watched your pursed lips as a smile formed at the edges of my mouth, so i fidgeted with the hem of my shorts.
"you are my sunshine," you started singing. "my only sunshine." you were not whistling anymore.
"don't," i teased.
"you make me happy when skies are gray."
"british or american spelling?"
"you'll never know just how much i--" you paused.
and waited.
i waited. heat rose to my cheeks, hotter than any sting from a fire. love you, just say it, x. how much i love you, it's part of the song, it doesn't mean you actually do. do you?
"so american spelling?" i continued.
we never referred to that night again. to this day, x, i wonder why you chose that song, in that moment, for that reason, to break that particular silence. this love letter, x, finishes what you didn't say. you took my sunshine away when you failed to trust that i could possibly reciprocate your feelings-- familiar apathy or love. my skies may forever be gray,
because what is now just another night around a pit for you is a heartbreaking moment of regret for me.
love,
a.
we sat around a bonfire pit: you held a bottle of gordon's and a menthol in one hand and i sat cross legged in a splintery wooden chair. the crackling dance of orange flames had already settled but the glowing embers still licked furiously at my cheeks and eyelashes. the night before, we tried holding hands on your couch "just to see" if either of us could feel anything other than apathy towards another person. we mutually postponed our conclusions.
i thought, maybe we should return to our discussion.
i inhaled; my exhales were staccato and hesitant.
i smelled my hair.
i inhaled again.
and then you started whistling. you licked your lips. the tone was shrill. i recognized the tune after you finished the second measure of the chorus. i watched your pursed lips as a smile formed at the edges of my mouth, so i fidgeted with the hem of my shorts.
"you are my sunshine," you started singing. "my only sunshine." you were not whistling anymore.
"don't," i teased.
"you make me happy when skies are gray."
"british or american spelling?"
"you'll never know just how much i--" you paused.
and waited.
i waited. heat rose to my cheeks, hotter than any sting from a fire. love you, just say it, x. how much i love you, it's part of the song, it doesn't mean you actually do. do you?
"so american spelling?" i continued.
we never referred to that night again. to this day, x, i wonder why you chose that song, in that moment, for that reason, to break that particular silence. this love letter, x, finishes what you didn't say. you took my sunshine away when you failed to trust that i could possibly reciprocate your feelings-- familiar apathy or love. my skies may forever be gray,
because what is now just another night around a pit for you is a heartbreaking moment of regret for me.
love,
a.
nothing else could come between
but now you've left me to love another
you have shattered all of my dreams
11 May 2013
dear x: holy ground
dear x,
you took me out dancing downtown. i wore a purple dress, and i watched you attach your cuff links while glancing back and forth between our reflections in your bathroom mirror.
i'll never forget how i felt when you smiled at me with your hand on my back and the occasional brush of our hips. i am a terrible dancer; you didn't seem to care, so i hardly recognized the giddiness in my own laugh. we ran into a few people that you knew, and you introduced me as "pretty andrea." i try to look pretty; i rarely feel pretty but that night was an exception. i kissed you hard on a red lips couch in the basement at grainey's and sincerely wished everyone in the city could bear witness to my excitement.
summer has a way of resetting my life. perhaps the longer days, dewy skin, shorter hemlines, and penchant for mojitos renew my faith in love-- because that june night with you still makes me blush and even writing you this love letter inspires me to spin around the room, reliving one of my happiest memories.
love,
a.
you took me out dancing downtown. i wore a purple dress, and i watched you attach your cuff links while glancing back and forth between our reflections in your bathroom mirror.
i'll never forget how i felt when you smiled at me with your hand on my back and the occasional brush of our hips. i am a terrible dancer; you didn't seem to care, so i hardly recognized the giddiness in my own laugh. we ran into a few people that you knew, and you introduced me as "pretty andrea." i try to look pretty; i rarely feel pretty but that night was an exception. i kissed you hard on a red lips couch in the basement at grainey's and sincerely wished everyone in the city could bear witness to my excitement.
summer has a way of resetting my life. perhaps the longer days, dewy skin, shorter hemlines, and penchant for mojitos renew my faith in love-- because that june night with you still makes me blush and even writing you this love letter inspires me to spin around the room, reliving one of my happiest memories.
love,
a.
i guess we fell apart in the usual way
and the story's got dust on every page
but sometimes i wonder how you think about it now
i see your face in every crowd
(i cannot find any good youtube videos for this song and it makes me sad)
10 May 2013
dear x: titanium
dear x,
at some point last spring, you saved me. maybe it was drinking all of my mini rum bottles that i bought in oregon after my grandmother's funeral and swaying on the sidewalks downtown. maybe it was taco night and tamarind margaritas at the matador. maybe it was the open invitation to crawl into your bed after dodging your apartment's particularly aggressive sprinklers so i wouldn't have to think about him-- or the lack of him.
i woke up once and you were reading a book about running. it was probably like 5 am and there you were chillin shirtless in bed and focused on the words in front of you. in spite of my sleepiness, i observed and appreciated the calm beauty there that morning with you before closing my eyes again.
we shared lots of smirks, jelly beans, stories of our exes, mountain dews, idle threats about jumping off bridges, and walks across campus in the dark. the nights spent sprawled on your couch or your roommate's bean bag chair (was it really necessary to curl up against you in a squishy chair in order to watch british "top gear"?) are welcome breaks from the silence, even though i still can't determine why i lack relationship-level feelings for you. i don't expect you to understand why, but i'm writing you this love letter to say i appreciate you.
and your warm bed.
love,
a.
at some point last spring, you saved me. maybe it was drinking all of my mini rum bottles that i bought in oregon after my grandmother's funeral and swaying on the sidewalks downtown. maybe it was taco night and tamarind margaritas at the matador. maybe it was the open invitation to crawl into your bed after dodging your apartment's particularly aggressive sprinklers so i wouldn't have to think about him-- or the lack of him.
i woke up once and you were reading a book about running. it was probably like 5 am and there you were chillin shirtless in bed and focused on the words in front of you. in spite of my sleepiness, i observed and appreciated the calm beauty there that morning with you before closing my eyes again.
we shared lots of smirks, jelly beans, stories of our exes, mountain dews, idle threats about jumping off bridges, and walks across campus in the dark. the nights spent sprawled on your couch or your roommate's bean bag chair (was it really necessary to curl up against you in a squishy chair in order to watch british "top gear"?) are welcome breaks from the silence, even though i still can't determine why i lack relationship-level feelings for you. i don't expect you to understand why, but i'm writing you this love letter to say i appreciate you.
and your warm bed.
love,
a.
ghost town and haunted love
09 May 2013
dear x: lotus flower
dear x,
if he is the reason why i will never love another, then you are the reason why I will never love.
i have this recurring dream that is actually a memory from years ago. my body sat on the edge of your twin bed, but my mind swirled in past and possibility. you jerked me back to reality with a simple statement: "you look sad."
"i am sad," i whispered, to you and to me.
i am writing you this love letter, x, to tell you that you are not alone. when you enclose into the elliptical caress of your emotionless psyche, please know i too exist somewhere likely sucking my own metaphorical wounds. our monkeyrope is your attachment to my pain; you knew there were only so many times you could fuck me (over) and return to her the next morning, as if your guilt was worth more than my foolish hope. you knew there were only so many times, x, you could deny (knowing) me, as if your attractiveness depends on your dark solitude and not on my pathetic belief that you'll change. you knew there were only so many times you could wipe off my kiss before your own lips started to blur (partial) lies from (slanted) truth. you can tell them whatever you want; you're the one who doesn't sleep at night.
no, x, you are not alone. please know that you're not the only one who may be comfortable but not in love. because you have made it this way.
love,
a.
just to see what if
if he is the reason why i will never love another, then you are the reason why I will never love.
i have this recurring dream that is actually a memory from years ago. my body sat on the edge of your twin bed, but my mind swirled in past and possibility. you jerked me back to reality with a simple statement: "you look sad."
"i am sad," i whispered, to you and to me.
i am writing you this love letter, x, to tell you that you are not alone. when you enclose into the elliptical caress of your emotionless psyche, please know i too exist somewhere likely sucking my own metaphorical wounds. our monkeyrope is your attachment to my pain; you knew there were only so many times you could fuck me (over) and return to her the next morning, as if your guilt was worth more than my foolish hope. you knew there were only so many times, x, you could deny (knowing) me, as if your attractiveness depends on your dark solitude and not on my pathetic belief that you'll change. you knew there were only so many times you could wipe off my kiss before your own lips started to blur (partial) lies from (slanted) truth. you can tell them whatever you want; you're the one who doesn't sleep at night.
no, x, you are not alone. please know that you're not the only one who may be comfortable but not in love. because you have made it this way.
love,
a.
just to see what if
just to see what is
05 May 2013
dear x: catalyst
dear x,
that afternoon on the swings, i reached for your hand and missed as you passed by me with your legs out-stretched and my hair stuck to my lips.
i tried to kick high enough to poke a hole in the damp, gray sky. we could have crawled inside and snuggled up against our own loneliness.
but i suppose then i would have missed what came next: you played the piano for me for the first time in the basement. i learned your eyes are green, not blue. i decided i wanted to hear your simple repetitive chords that sounded like wind chimes and heart patters every single day for the rest of my life.
i am writing you this love letter because i enjoy remembering how it all started instead of our eventual fated end. our hands missed for a reason, but that doesn't mean i regret our fingertips brushing.
love,
a.
you'll be the vein
that afternoon on the swings, i reached for your hand and missed as you passed by me with your legs out-stretched and my hair stuck to my lips.
i tried to kick high enough to poke a hole in the damp, gray sky. we could have crawled inside and snuggled up against our own loneliness.
but i suppose then i would have missed what came next: you played the piano for me for the first time in the basement. i learned your eyes are green, not blue. i decided i wanted to hear your simple repetitive chords that sounded like wind chimes and heart patters every single day for the rest of my life.
i am writing you this love letter because i enjoy remembering how it all started instead of our eventual fated end. our hands missed for a reason, but that doesn't mean i regret our fingertips brushing.
love,
a.
you'll be the vein
you'll be the pain
you'll be the catalyst
04 May 2013
dear x: nothing's gonna stop us now
dear x,
i almost called you the other night while i was driving home in the rain because you're always the first person i think of when i'm scared.
after the lab dedication for mary ellen, i really missed having people in my life that i admire and respect. when i was a student, i was constantly supported by positive people with similar goals and interests who encouraged me to develop my talents and be proud of my accomplishments. however, you were my biggest fan, for whatever reasons, and you believed in me so much that i didn't have to; i had no idea the immensity of your stability until you were gone.
i am so scared, x, that i will never be as great as you believed me to be. i am terrified of mediocrity, of being just good enough, of never being loved by anyone else because you were wrong and i suck. i broke up with you because ironically i chose love over friendship; i chose the possibility of greater things over actual contentedness; yet, i haven't even come remotely close to finding anyone that equals you. i do suck.
which is why i am writing you this love letter: once upon a time you loved me at my best, and i am thankful for all of the years you carried 95-lbs of me (and up to 120 when i was chunky monkey). before i met you, i ached for the day when i would meet someone that i trusted enough to love me as i loved him. and then i found you. and i am still so very happy that i did.
love,
a.
i almost called you the other night while i was driving home in the rain because you're always the first person i think of when i'm scared.
after the lab dedication for mary ellen, i really missed having people in my life that i admire and respect. when i was a student, i was constantly supported by positive people with similar goals and interests who encouraged me to develop my talents and be proud of my accomplishments. however, you were my biggest fan, for whatever reasons, and you believed in me so much that i didn't have to; i had no idea the immensity of your stability until you were gone.
i am so scared, x, that i will never be as great as you believed me to be. i am terrified of mediocrity, of being just good enough, of never being loved by anyone else because you were wrong and i suck. i broke up with you because ironically i chose love over friendship; i chose the possibility of greater things over actual contentedness; yet, i haven't even come remotely close to finding anyone that equals you. i do suck.
which is why i am writing you this love letter: once upon a time you loved me at my best, and i am thankful for all of the years you carried 95-lbs of me (and up to 120 when i was chunky monkey). before i met you, i ached for the day when i would meet someone that i trusted enough to love me as i loved him. and then i found you. and i am still so very happy that i did.
love,
a.
and if this world runs out of lovers,
we'll still have each other