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'll tell you all my secrets if you stick around

the undercover lover's under the covers

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.

and if this world runs out of lovers,

we'll still have each other

may partake in National Sorry Day.

thirteen ways of saying i'm sorry

after stevens

I

1985, korea

in august.

you still named me sunshine.

i'm sorry if i ruined your life

but you saved mine.

II

banana slugs, misty

gray air, and shores of driftwood:

i'm sorry i forget more

and more of you each day.

III

i'm sorry; i would have loved

to meet you.

IV

i tell people i do not

like the taste of gin.

the truth is

i am reminded of you, summer

nights, and the pine scent of your tongue.

i'm sorry, i should not

lie.

V

frag

mented syl

lables

crushed f

or

m

i'm so

rry y

our brain an

d mine

can't com

municate.

VI

i like to think

after four years together

that we didn't talk about marriage,

babies, money, and "what if" not

because we didn't want a shared future

but because the present was more than enough.

i'm sorry i didn't thank you

for each and every day

we spent together, happy.

VII

i'm sorry:

"o my people, what have i done unto thee"

sounds like an oops.

VIII

i should never have let you

marry him-- i'm sorry.

IX

maybe because your hair is soft

maybe because you smell like a morning shower at 11 pm

maybe because my hands fit inside yours

maybe because you giggle when i kiss you

maybe it's all the little things

that make me sorry

i wanted you more

than you wanted me.

X

crunchy green peppers

extra packet of spicy sauce

clumps of hamburger--

i'm sorry

your home-cooked chili

just doesn't compare

to wendy's.

XI

sometimes i wake up in the middle

of the night and wonder

if you just got up to use the bathroom.

in the dark,

i remember you

are not there,

you chose not to be there,

and you will never be there.

i force myself back

to sleep before the deep ache

in my chest causes any more tears

to

fall.

i'm sorry

you won't be here to hold me.

XII

i'm sorry your failures

make me feel accomplished.

XIII

daunting mobile of words

and phrases dangle

i no

longer know

if they are mine

or yours.

i'm sorry

if my imitation

is the only way

i can connect

with greatness.

may free fall.

dear monkeybutt,

this is the first letter i've written to you in over 9 years. but i think about you almost every day. at first, i fought memories of you back into the submisson of my subconscious; only recently have i been able to think of you and a new feeling has emerged-- i miss you. i still can't smell cake batter or listen to tom petty without thinking of you. i wish (sometimes so badly it stings my eyes and the hard bubble in my throat throbs) you were here to experience life too.

i know you hate(d) me. i know things ended badly between us. but there are so many things i want to share with you. i would tell you how much i love french fries; i would take you to my new best friend's chinese food restaurant where we'd pig out on pot stickers and laugh because they are called "pot" stickers and regret putting our minds and bodies through such misery to weigh 75 pounds. i would tell you that x was not as good as it gets; i wish you would have felt a real man's love. i would tell you that meeting people you talk to online is actually encouraged now. i would tell you about the music you've missed; i think you would have liked emo music and taylor swift (she's so cute!). maybe if i could share this life that i've come to tolerate i could somehow make up for the guilt i've felt (always have and always will) that you're dead.

i know why you did it. but i wish you would have just given people and life a chance-- maybe they wouldn't have disappointed you as badly as you thought. we are not 15 anymore. we can wear whatever clothes we want, we can live in our own spaces, we can date any boy (bad or good) and we can text them without our parents knowing, and we can buy our own horses and make-up. life is so different now than it was then-- for me, anyway. i mean, it's not ALL grand and happy bubbles. yes, i still have dark fantasies about spilling all that's hateful and worthless inside me into a tub of warm bathwater, soaking in a pool of blood red, and slowly slipping into a new life that is not this one-- in hopes that whatever finds me is better than now.

but what if life on the other side is just like this one-- only a little bit worse? i don't know. but you know. and tell me, was it worth it? do you have gummy worms where you are? do you have summer picnics? do you have netflix? do you have boys who will stay up all night with you and play adult mad libs and drink pineapple rum and tell you they love you in the morning? do you have life where you are?

in 9 years, i still haven't changed my mind.

i choose life.

i just wish you had too.

late,
duckfluff