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.

and i ache to remember

all the violent

sweet

perfect

words that you said

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.

you wrap me in your arms

and chill me to the bone

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?

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

that you never loved me

or her

or anyone

or anything

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.

nothing else could come between

but now you've left me to love another

you have shattered all of my dreams

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.

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)

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.

ghost town and haunted love

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

just to see what is

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

you'll be the pain

you'll be the catalyst

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