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Wednesday, December 26, 2012

A LOVE LETTER TO FROM A STRANGER.



strangers are the best people to fall in love with. strangers have no story but the one you want them to have. strangers have no baggage, no damages, no faults, only a beautiful face and beautiful lips and beautiful possibilities. As we glance across a coffee shop or make passing eye contact on the street, you are whatever I want you to be. We are everything I've always wanted. I will never stop falling in love with you, stranger. These are the letters I write you.

It all started here and so should you. or start where ever you want. we always end up in the same spot, anyway.

“This was the wonderful thing about strangers. They were big blank pieces of paper, you could draw whatever you liked on their impressionable surfaces.”

Now everything has changed and become difficult. I realized today that the difference between us and the reason that we need to escape each other is because you need time to learn how to care about others more than you care about yourself, and I need to learn how to care more about myself than I do about others.

How do I start explaining these things? I could write you hundreds of letters but you wouldn’t understand the ache in my chest. You wouldn’t understand the way I say goodnight to you while I’m lying in the dark and you aren’t there next to me. Or the way that I wake up surrounded by pillows, dreaming they are you. The dread I feel when I’ve woken but can’t open my eyes, and the feeling fades into dark behind my eyelids. It would be so easy to be selfish, but I’d never forgive myself. I want so much for you, for us.
You can’t understand how you can be constantly present while so far away.
You shouldn’t worry about me being alone. The thing about me is that I’ve always been alone. And now, even though you’ve left me half a world away, I’m somehow not so lonely these days.
These are the days that all those comforting words of sympathy become pure unarguable truths.
I am one of the lucky ones.
Maybe I’m a mess but you clean me up so well.
Everyday everyday everyday everyday. Everyday you become a little less of a stranger and a little more of a great mystery of my life. You’ve got me, yet you say I’m the one that only has to say the word, that the choice is all mine and you will wait around for me to make it. Since the moment I met you, I never had a choice. My only choice was a drunken decision to step off a cliff, and now that I’ve sobered up the only way is down. I just keep falling further and further. Acceleration due to gravity is 9.8 meters per square second and there’s no bottom in sight.
That is the thing about humans. It is so easy for them to say things. They can go on and on and on like experts about topics. Then it comes down to it. I am not discounting myself. I have told people so many things, so many beliefs but look at me! I am the same! I am selfish and go after what I want just the same as the next person. I suppose that is life: selfishness and getting what you want. It’s a rat race, I hear. But all I really want is to make people happy. I never did anything with any intention of hurting any one and that makes the difference.
Some people take the easy way out. They know that some people have no way to possibly defend themselves, they know that they wont even try. So they strike.
I strike when I know that there is a fight to be had. I strike when I know I will have to have courage. I strike because of belief, not because of ease.
There’s a huge difference. Someday you’ll see it.
There’s too many things I can’t talk about in their fullest sense. Only half. Only the strong. I can’t tell people about my weaknesses, if I do, they are real, and I am no longer this strong independent thing. But I check and I check and I replay scenarios and imagined situations over and over in my mind until every night I’m dreaming about them. There is nothing in this world that I regret, there is nothing that I would change. I just wish that I knew that was not true for you.
Happiness comes at a price and I think.
I think.
I never drink milk but tonight I did. I let just a little sit at the bottom and it curdled, right there, in front of my eyes. Aren’t things supposed to spoil slower than that?
I can thank you, the you I don’t talk about anymore, all I want, but part of my heart is still screaming.
it’s like when I run my hand over my shoulders to fight the cold and notice muscles that weren’t there before. That’s how these feelings go. I’m minding my business doing something, and then I notice them. I didn’t know they were there but there they are, and I’m all surprised, even though that is exactly what I’ve been moving toward, working for.There’s so many freckles on my body I could never claim to know them all, but I can promise a new one would look weird for a time.
the absence of one, even stranger.









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