Yours, Truly

And Now For Something Completely Different

2012-02-08T14:52:00.001-05:00

"To Scale"

My littleness is not one-sided.

It pervades my every dimension, it colours my movement, it informs my mannerisms.

I live a little life.

But the slow pull of melancholia is double the gravity,

And the hole in my stomach echoes more times than a can in a canyon.

My raging pulse is an mad drum reaching a wild crescendo and that damn trickling fear

just sits in wait like an icicle

over my fragile spine.

It makes me wonder... Are my feelings immense?

Or do they only overwhelm me because I am... small.

Am I the only one?

I have compared myself to a moody ocean.

Sinking ships in the bay,

I beckon with the lulls and dips between waves,

Before the storm hits, and the sky admits--

it's just for show.

Pathetic fallacy calls for stormy skies, despair prefers straight pain.

My friends, you take your thunder-- I'll bring the hurricane.

Other times, I have cited a star--
A cosmic release, a bug in a jar.

Up and away from these notions
The motion of the ocean, and the commotion of
emotional turmoil.
There is a fire, making it's home in my bones, burning the marrow till tomorrow,

running on midnight oil.

You're too distant to see how it burns in me,

and the colours bleed;

There's a disconnect in my constellation.

My littleness is not one-sided.
But neither is my greatness.

The Scientist

2011-10-23T12:00:00.000-04:00

Dear Sir,
The evidence is as follows:

I have never been normal. The days of wanting to change that are long gone, but you make me feel like I could be... stable. Like everything is just a little bit easier than I thought it was. I've been struggling at things that can just... be.

You make me feel real, like a real person. And for years I’ve been living like that’s not me: like rules don’t apply to me, like other people aren’t speaking the same language as I am. It feels like I’ve been trying to communicate with crude charades without getting through, until now.

When you feed me, I feel cherished. My parents fed me for my entire life and never made me feel like this. At dinner every night I am warm inside, from more than the soup.

But you also care about me— not just for me with meals or homework help. You care about me with private telling glances and appropriately-placed worrying. You care about me with early morning wake-ups and late night (occasionally comatose) cuddling sessions.

I never know how to say the things brewing inside me, but you make me want to. You make me want to tell you everything, and not just the stuff I know you want to hear. You make me search for myself and turn what I find into words.

You teach me so much. Not only with the astonishing array of facts you carry around in that head of yours, but with the way you live. You teach me to be better, to be kinder, to think more and to try harder.

You show me a man that I could love— if love were an acceptable, operationally defined term, that is. But if it is never defined, how do we know we aren't missing it?

What if that sleepy smile you give me over oatmeal and chocolate milk, and the kiss you leave smouldering on the back of my neck when you go to work is—

What if the comforts of my embrace as you shift between nightmares, or the purposefully neglected silk I leave home in favour of your discarded clothing is—

What if it isn't? I'm much less prepared to accept that.

In conclusion, I love you.
By default, by design, if not entirely by definition.

Let's redefine.

Yours, Truly.

My Childhood Room

2011-08-07T12:07:00.008-04:00

I didn't think I could do it... leave you behind for good...

I remember the slumber parties, sometimes me and a friend, sometimes just me and you. And either way, I'd be up much too late, singing or giggling or reading like a fiend.

I remember when I was scared, when the world was crumbling under the weight of adult-sized yelling. You held me in your four compassionate blue walls and hid me from what I couldn't understand yet... when you could.

I remember living in you, and feeling so relieved after a hard day to sink into your depths and finally take a full breath...

When I saw your new face I balked... You are blindingly shiny, brand-spanking new-- showing me what I'll be missing, I get that. I'd do the same in your position, get repainted into a weak facsimile of cheer. But Butter Yellow was never a good colour for us...

I didn't want this to be goodbye, forever... but that's the way things have to be. It's not up to us anymore. It never really was.

Stop. Just Stop. Don't give me that blank-wall stare. Just listen:

I just came to get my things and move on with my life, just a little more broken... but you stare accusingly with all the ire 27 beanie babies can muster. You've shed my paintings and greet me, ~~bare-assed~~ bare-walled, showing that if I don't need you to hold me, you don't need me to fill you up.

But someone is going to love you, and soon.

It is time, to let go of this petulance, and start to forget this heartache.

Let us say goodbye like lovers do. Lingering; soft words and violent passion in turn.

I'm not leaving you to be cruel, I need you to know that.

Just because there is no room left in my life, doesn't mean my room is gone from my heart...

Yours, Truly.

Goodnight moon, goodnight room.

Goodnight books, at least I'll see you soon.

Goodnight desk in blue and white.

Goodnight lamps with coloured lights.

Goodnight glowing, stick-on stars.

Goodnight to the sound of cars.

Goodnight closet, goodnight air.

Goodnight always, just know I care.

To Melancholy

2011-07-03T12:34:00.001-04:00

Hello my old friend. Have you come to stay again for a time?

I want to say I've missed you, but that's not quite the right thing to say. When you're gone I don't usually spend my time thinking about your cold hands, and if I do, you always seem to know and simply show up at my doorstep. Like tonight.

I will just say, I am glad to see you.

...But again, that's not exactly true. I am not glad, I am immersed in you. I am lonely and introspective, my mind is waxing poetic and my voice is silent, the world is an installation painted infinite shades of grey.

But I finally get to take the time to appreciate the variation, the wide spectrum of individuality found in a single gloomy cloud.

Or to reflect on how lonely it must be to be a snowflake, lost in a melee of other grey faces that we like to pretend are white. Anonymous in the crowd, surrounded by other snowflakes yet entirely solitary, the only one of your kind...

You're looking well... or unwell. You're looking down. But I suppose so am I, when we're together. Lost in my head and in the beauty that blooms everywhere. Everywhere but here, in my heart's sleeping garden. Waiting on the sunshine of a smile, you help me to plant the seeds that will grow into wonder, gratitude and insatiable thirst for more beauty, more sadness... more life.

And not the "life" you see on television sitcoms where there's always a funny quip to solve your problems... Real Life. Real in-your-face-hardships-may-or-may-not-make-you-stronger-teeth-bared-heart-on-sleeve-blood-sweat-tears-and-passion Life. Fuck yeah.

That's why I love you-- even as you take me in your cold gripping embrace. Even as you erase the smile from my eyes and replace it with cool and detached appraisal. You make the good days good, because I know I've earned them. You make colours brighter, because I know what it is to go without. You make my heart bloom into an Eden that far surpasses what I could do alone.

Because there is good and bad. Light and Dark. And I won't hide from it, won't hide from you.

You make me stronger; when you push me down into the depths of misery's arctic pools, I am swimming, pushing, kicking for my life, and learning to do it harder every time... Because breaking the surface and taking that gasp of fresh air, basking in the joy of sunshine and making my way to the shore is better than having stayed dry. Better than warm and safe and boring.

Better than ignorance.

I guess I can do without bliss.

I'll forget utopia for even a taste of Real Life.

And that's on you.

Yours, Truly.

Le Premier Abord.

2011-06-14T16:44:00.015-04:00

Firsts; you can be beautiful, educational, cruel.

My beginning was not for me—my first steps, my first words, my first injury. They were for my parents; to show them my growth, to reassure them of their good parenting and to remind them how very delicate a life is. How delicate my life is.

Next it was my turn for some revelation and along came my first day at school, my first bully, my first crush. And I learned that being different isn't easy, that not everyone is going to like you, that learning could ignite my passion...
and that boys are stupid. And so are girls.
But they are both pretty great.

And as I grow, I collect more and more of you: first time I got drunk, first time I thought I was in love, my first apartment, my first driving lesson, my first car accident, first time I had sex, first time I had sex outdoors, my first vote in a federal election, my first surgery...
The first time I thought I might die... right there on that hospital bed.

I needed to learn my mortality too. Learn how delicate I am... learn how fucking strong I am.

I needed to know that good comes around but so does bad and both make you live harder... if you're smart.

I needed to know that people come and go in your life and the most important person to love is yourself. Even when it feels like someone else is your whole life... which would be a first for me.
I guess I learn fast.

Some people live their lives afraid that they will run out of firsts and be left with only higher denominations of "been there, done that".
I am not afraid. I will not hoard my experiences; lock them inside little boxes of achievement to prove who I am and where I came from.

I will wait, and one of these days, this stage will end. Firsts will once again stop being for me, and start being for us— whenever I find someone to be an “us” with me, of course.
We can explore them together, the triumphs and mistakes and unpredictable staggering blows. We can be human, and act like we’re children, and live like we love being alive— because that’s important.

And one day I will watch my baby smile for the first time, and know for sure, as I've known in my heart... that life will never, ever get old.

Yours, Truly

PS. After writing this, the word first has lost all meaning.... the down-sides of repetition.

Old Clothes

2011-04-28T01:59:00.005-04:00

I'm writing to you all today because I think we need to talk.

We've known each other a long time and the fact is, I've grown ~~out of~~ past you. We had some great times but it's been a long time since you made me ~~look~~ feel desirable.

I have loved you longer than you deserve, and kept you around because of the good times we had and the great memories we've made... but the time has come, and ~~you're falling apart~~ I'm holding ~~you~~ it together. So smarten up!

I will always remember the feel of you on my skin-- covering me up, keeping me warm. I almost want to keep you, but I know deep down it's just to avoid ~~throwing you out~~ losing you. I might need you one day! For a... who can dress like a toddler contest? To plug holes in my roof? I need to be realistic, and also I need to be fair to you. You could be out there being loved by some ~~fashionless~~ tween, being celebrated as I once celebrated you.

It's time, for someone else to love you. To fill you ~~out~~ up with their insecurities and dreams. You've remained empty, sitting in the background ~~of my closet~~ for far too long and it is time for you to get out there and live until you wear yourself out.

It's not you, it's... well yeah it is. But I'll still miss you in spirit.

But really, corduroy floral?!?! What was I on??

Yours, Truly

Curls

2011-03-24T12:00:00.009-04:00

Smother me, I can take it.

There are worse ways to die than tangled up in you.

Not a restraint, merely a disguise, a tantalizing display of plumage.

Not a fire, though you make me ignite.

Not a drop of cold ocean, but a dark sea of curling delirium.

There is gasping for breath and a fair amount of sensory deprivation, but I'd never complain. To breathe even for a moment this sweet clean scent; to see just a glimpse through this tangled canopy-- it's enough. I'd much rather be here, in the forest, watching the wildlife do its thing.

Out there are complications, salutations, social mitigations... I want to smile for hello, and to throw polite out with every single elastic I've acquired.

Why quell this sweet madness? You deserve to be celebrated.

Tell Rapunzel never to let you down again.

Tell her to let you free.

Yours, Truly.

Romance Novels

2011-02-26T11:32:00.004-05:00

Dearest Friend(s),

I glow with happiness that you grace the earth with your presence. I crave your strong text to whisk me away. We'll elope to far off lands, where I get to be ~~sexed up~~ the princess, the lady, the heroine... Instead of the undergraduate student, the ungrateful daughter and the listless insomniac. You take me, as I love to be taken.

I feel the anticipation building, longing to run my fingers up your spine. I hold you close, clutching your sides, as I look at you--into you. Penetrating deeply, and grasping what is inside. At your climax I gasp for breath, breasts heaving I struggle to take it all in. Then the dénouement-- I lie quivering on the bed soaking it all in, just taking in your soft and comforting words.

You tell me what I want to hear and I love you for it.

Your decadence is comical to some, but my fluttering heart disagrees.

I want you-- every word, every inch. The thicker the better.

Yours, Truly

PS. this might have been one giant "that's what she said" joke... who knows.

Oh My Love

2011-02-14T02:35:00.008-05:00

My Darling, I've hungered for your touch. A long lonely time... ~~approximately~~ exactly one year. How have you been?

There's been a lot of gossip about you lately. The usual things: you're not a real holiday, you're never good enough, you're just commercial, and you don't care about people's real feelings. I know they're just rumours. You've never tried to hide what you are--

A chocolate lover, a flower lover, a lover.

Haters Gonna Hate. But why hate on something that we all need?

You don't need to be dressed up, glittered and glammed over the tippy-top (as people seem to anticipate) to be beautiful. A simple word, or a hug, a call home to Mom and Pop-- those are the things that make you so worthwhile and wonderful to me. The humble appreciation for everyone we care about is an important thing that often isn't expressed enough. You give us that kick in the pants we need.

So thank you, Valentine's Day, for telling me what I want to hear.

I love and appreciate you too.

Yours, Truly.

________________________________________

Ps. I also just really love excuses to give out handmade cards, I'm bad-ass with a pair of safety scissors.

Ice Ice Baby

2011-02-03T00:16:00.001-05:00

I see right though you. This little tough guy act.... you're trying to trip me up, trying to be cool (though you're just being cold). Let me tell you now: it's not going to work.

I don't like you now, in the bleak midwinter... You get too enthusiastic, if that makes sense. Frisky to the point of pain. I may be a bit masochistic but you've become too much for me. You want to play when I'm trying to get to important meetings, when I'm trying to climb stairs, when I have other things on my mind, and lemme tell you, it's getting old.

You lie in wait outside doors, creeping over the eaves of my childhood home. you point and laugh from rooftops everywhere I go... waiting for your moment. You backstabber. Your icicle fingers of malice tricked me in the summer months. You were so chill, so sexy, as you traced my body with your melting heart... You always made the best daiquiris...

Now you lie in wait disguising yourself as the ground, stalking me, but it's okay. I've always loved you better in the summer. You're somewhat of a fair-weather friend. I get that.

And I like you in small doses, so I await the days of sunshine and your creamy texture.

Vanilla please.

Yours, Truly.

Studies on Sleep

2011-01-03T01:59:00.009-05:00

Tonight you elude me.

Forever your mysteries intrigue me.

I daydream (it's never enough):

You and I finally meet (the wait is excruciating) with no need for formalities.

You disarm me. Slowly.

We bathe, entwined in silence.

Only (my breath) filling the space between us.

- - -

The pilgrimage to your door is unpredictable and I, dressed for hunting, am sorely unprepared.

Like some mythical creature you stalk me, waiting to reveal yourself-- as always, at your leisure.

My fire burns low and red. The embers look like the insides of my eyelids, when the day rings harsh and you have left me.

I was never going to find you because you are never to be found.

And that, is the hardest part.

- - -

Touch me, I need it. I need you.
My body aches for your embrace.

It dwindles, slowly slumping into sporadic puddles of inappropriate emotion.

Wanting you more than any other basic need.

I can't think in straight lines, thoughts are singswoopjingleclomp-ing.

higgledy-piggledy-ziggity-zag.

The face, whiskers askew, jeers at my plight.

Taunting, ticking, talking, tocking.

When will you arrive?

Touch me, I neeeeeeed it.

- - -

Postcard From My Mother:

Hello my Pumpkin.

I am trying the snail mail because you never answer my calls.

How is your sleep? You know it's so important!

Enjoy as much as you can.

-Mom

Email To My Mother:
Hey Mommy,
Sleep is fine, it went on holiday for a bit, strangely at the same time I did. But has since returned and we are doing fine. I don't know what you're on about, I called you this past weekend. Remember we told you about our trip to Cartoon India and the flying carpet? And how I keep turning into a cat? And that doughnut sex tape?

Sometimes I think you don't care about my dreams.

Yours, Truly.

PS. Sleep says Hi to Daddy.

Morning Dialogue: To the Boy in My Bed

2010-12-17T00:22:00.011-05:00

You sleep like a dead rhinoceros. Did you know?

Relax, relax! It's a compliment.

I can just wait for you to fall asleep and then I can do whatever I want. No really, anything. Last night I invited over some sketch artists and we drew you. When they wanted you to change poses, I literally just positioned your limbs however we felt like.

You don't believe me. Fine, I won't show you the picture of you as all three of Charlie's Angels. Sorry, too late, you missed your chance on that particular piece of hotness. Try again tomorrow.

You know, your eyes would be so much bluer if your hair wasn't so... uhhh... lovely. Of course I was going to say lovely! You doubt me again? How can you doubt this face? What I mean is, if it was darker your eyes would jump out and grab people by the throat. How am I supposed to know why your eyes are so hostile? Maybe they watched too much Charlie's Angels as a kid...?

You know I'm not ticklish. You just want to touch me. No. I'm not complaining. Just pointing out the flaws in your cover story. Maybe you should try "I saw a spider on the wall and I'm inspecting you for bites," or maybe "I'm sweeping the layers of glitter off your skin 'cuz they taste funny."

Of course, my glitter wouldn't taste funny, so that might not work.

Hmm?? Well... like a family of unicorns made French Toast for breakfast, poured real Canadian maple syrup all over, added some rainbows, smiles and cinnamon and ate it on my tummy. Then they didn't do the "dish".

--Get it? Because I'm a dish? And a "dish" is a hot chick? ...It was so funny!--

Hey stop it!! There are no spiders in the Unicornian household!!! Eeeee! I'm warning you, I'll make the blonde, brunette and red-headed yous kick your ass!

You know what...? I think it's time to wake you up and have this conversation. Or at least make you read it. If only I had a rhino-poker...

Yours, Truly.

Hospitals

2010-11-23T04:42:00.008-05:00

You scare me.

It could be the smells... The rubbing alcohol and floor cleaner with overtures of too many unhappy faces... and the occasional whiff of vomit. When I get a needle, or a new medication in my IV, I can smell it, no matter how many times your minions tell me I'm imagining it. In the emergency waiting room I smell fear. Tears and sweat and utter despair. 40 people in front of me having their worst day, and the smell follows me.

And the worst of all is the sickly sweet and insidious smell of the rubber when you come to ~~try 50 times to~~ take my blood. It smells like vanilla that has been run over by a burning truck tire... and my blood smells like salt and batteries.

Maybe it's the memories I have of being trapped within your countless walls-- memories that still haunt my sleep. I wake up already sobbing and short of breath saying "don't make me go, don't you dare make me get better".

But it was never the getting better that was the problem.

It was the endless waiting, the excruciating pain and the days (to weeks) without food that come with getting better that make me afraid to go back. Make me afraid to be sick. But worse than that, afraid (once I'm sick) to start getting better...

It could be the tiny boxes that you try to put us in.... Your consumers seem to have come to be Zoo animals for a day. In a cage with no walls, open to the air. Open to the eyes-- staring, questioning, curious. The one time you want to suffer in silence, in secret; you look your worst on purpose but the gawkers won't take a hint. You become a stuffed owl for the masses of other sick people and hospital employees.

Maybe it's just the opposite.

Not that there are too many stories, eyes, smells--- but that within the midst of hundreds of people, you are the loneliest place I can think of....

Yours, Truly

PS. But this time I had some help. A familiar smell among the madness, a warm and comforting presence, something to hide my identity in... and I Love This Shirt. I Love its faded lettering and its all-encompassing bulk; I Love that it falls just low enough for modesty, but Love that it easily rides high enough for a more erotic take on the common band T-shirt; and I Love its owner.

PPS. Maybe I'll beat you yet. Damn Hospitals.

Uplifting "Love Movies"

2010-11-10T13:30:00.002-05:00

You make me cry. A lot.

Before you get all predictably romantic and assume that my tears are for your emotionally moving stories or even your sweeping string-orchestra overtures let me just assure you:

That is not the case.

You are a vicious and scheming liar.

I remember fighting for love. I remember compromise and passion and being the most unlikely pairing out there. I remember making it through hard times and still...

It wasn't enough.

That is where you take me, to my own failings.

Don't get me wrong, I believe in love. But what you show me isn't love. It's madness. It's irrational wonderful cinematic magic. And then makes me feel bad for not being able to recreate it.

This doesn't mean I'm going to stop watching you. Miss you taking the breath of the leading lady, or the sacrifice you demand from the hunk of the hour.... I sometimes need to be reminded how unrealistic my expectations can be...

No one is going to fly across the country for me, except my parents.

No one is going to write me letters from the grave.

No one is going to give up everything to be with me.

...And only my vanity would want such a thing. Give up everything? That is not what Love is about. Love is compromise, finding someone that fits into that last spot missing in your puzzle.... Not someone who is the whole picture (as you'd like me to believe).

Still I love/hate the grand gestures and heart wrenching pleading speeches, the last minute kisses and the weddings ruined by you. And I am a fan, for all I cry and beat my pillows at your impossible perfection.

S0 although I feel betrayed by life, it is not you who are in the wrong. You merely remind me of the times when Love... just wasn't enough.

It's not you. Really, I know you hear this all the time but it is me.

Keep on keeping on.

Yours, Truly

The Facial Hair Family (No. 3)

2010-10-22T18:07:00.001-04:00

Grandpa Sideburn,

I'm writing this, even though I'm not sure you'll even be able to read it... I mean lately you're really only 50% there.... oh, crap. I forgot you don't like to talk about the shaving accident...

It's just, you've become someone I barely know and never see. And when you let yourself go like you have been... I just pity you.

Actually, what's almost worse is when you have a good day and try to be "hip and phat with the peepees". Gramps, it's peeps. And no matter how much you change your look, you're still not ever going to be cool to me. I'm sorry, but you belong in a different time.

I'm just being honest here because I think these things need to be said, and no one is saying them. It's time for you to retire to a place where you'll be considered merely eccentric... instead of "I-forgot-how-to-shave-and-or-wash-chic."

When in doubt, go subtle. Actually... unless you are in a mustache competition with Uncle M, just do that all the time...

Yours, Truly

The Facial Hair Family (No. 2)

2010-10-21T13:00:00.001-04:00

Hey there Uncle Mustache,

You know, Grandpa Sideburn was showing me some old photos, you used to be... quite a fox. I mean, you made the ladies swoon and who cared if you were straight or not. Sometimes it made it all the better if you weren't straight... I wish you could regain that former glory somehow, go back to the days when I was just a toddler and mustache rides were the best thing in the world (-- wait a minute.... oh god, my childhood....).

Uh... Lets move on from that, shall we? You're a versatile guy, a little wax and you'll stop drooping all the time! You know Auntie L hated that, she was always telling my mom how your handlebars weren't working well so she was having trouble riding.... (Oh God... not again!) NEVERMIND THAT.

byeseeyoulaterIhavetogosomewherenow!

PS. Just... just tell Auntie Ladystache.... I'm so sorry but even waxing won't get her out of my head. She's made herself very memorable.... Not in a good way...

The Facial Hair Family (No. 1)

2010-10-20T19:20:00.001-04:00

Dear Father Beard,

You know, when I set eyes on you, I can't help but wonder if you're an intellectual genius or a homeless man. I base my answers off of the level of debris present in your clutches. You've been doing this longer than any of your relatives (you've got them beat by at least a decimeter) and I gotta say, I respect your perseverance.

You may have an air of old books--and I am a lover of old things-- but keep that pasta salad at bay, I saw your mom (the bearded lady) bring it into work a *week* ago. That's a liiiiittle too old for me.

Yours, Truly

To Obnoxious Drunk People

2010-09-17T17:29:00.001-04:00

I. Loathe. You.

Even when I too am drunk, I make a conscious effort NOT to violate the privacy and courtesy of others. If I *had* to be sick in an inopportune place, I would CLEAN IT THE FUCK UP.

Nothing excuses such behaviour as I have witnessed you execute. I don't care if you are also in possession of a Hot Accent, it does nothing for me when you stink of vodka and won't get out of my kitchen.

I would go out more and have fun more, and dance more and live more, if so many things weren't tainted by your noxious presence.

All I ask is that you learn your limit, and stop drinking more than you can handle. Just stay in your own space and out of mine, keep it the fuck down...

...And don't you *EVER* puke in my sink again.

You think you've seen me angry? Think again.

Yours, Truly.

PS. You smell like baby hobos, why you think that is going to make you attractive is beyond me.

Hot Accents

2010-09-12T03:00:00.001-04:00

Sooo hi... I'm writing because I'm embarrassed to speak in front of you.

You're all smoky and rounded and I feel like I'm all thumbs... I mean... all consonants. I like to just close my eyes and listen to you purr. I think "~~take me!~~ teach me!" but that doesn't help...

I realize that I'm objectifying you... maybe that makes me a bad person... or just a bad feminist, I don't know. All I know is, I could sit enthralled while you told me about your fascination with snails for hours. (Maybe not snails... but something else generally considered quite boring.)

Lately I've been walking into you--clouds of you-- on a regular basis. I really can't complain, I thoroughly enjoy the change in tone. So move over Mister ~~Darcy~~ and let me sit by you and yours.

Let me be silent while I bask in the memories of far-off places I loved so dearly and wish to see again...

Let me cup my ear to your throat to hear the ocean standing between us...

Let me watch as lips sculpt your features...

Let me breathe you in and taste your wonders...

Let me know that accents aren't everything...

But that you still want to taste mine. (I'll let you...)

Yours, Truly.

I'm not telling and you won't guess correctly

2010-09-02T18:35:00.001-04:00

I need to stop.

I've written you a letter before this, though I never sent it, never showed anyone. And I was proud of that letter-- the writing, the sentiment... But I guess it's not true anymore, so you will never see those words.

I am stumbling my way down a slight incline.

I dream about you sometimes, and usually I wake up forgetting that I'm not allowed to be happy. Not with you. And when it hits me, it hits low. It takes the wind right out of me. Sometimes I cry, and sometimes I am too sad for tears.

Are you waiting to catch me... or watching me fall?

One thing that bugs me... I don't even know if I ever had a chance, or if my fate was decided from the beginning. Was it something I did? Is my life now just some twisted punishment? What is it, I don't deserve you?

I've been here before, and I just keep coming back.

It's been hard to change the way I think, my reflexive reactions. I forget sometimes that you are gone. Some days I act like you're still here until something snaps and I'm in pain. "Oh yeah," I think, "it's like that now."

Do you know how easy life would be if I could stay away?

I am trying. Trying to live differently. I don't want to live like you don't exist, and I can't physically live like you are a part of my life. So I am left with living like I don't need you. I don't need you. But I'm still learning that. I'm new to this.

I might actually be more happy without hope... Do other people understand that?

I hope everyone feels lucky today, lucky to have you.

Because they will never understand me, not until you are gone from them too.

It's sad, but it is the truth.

Let's leave the light-switch, and keep them in the dark.

Not Yours... Truly.

To My Newly Single Friend

2010-08-29T13:00:00.001-04:00

It will be okay.

You know it will, that's what you hear every time something goes a little off track. Somewhere along the line it must be true.

You want compliments and reassuring pats on your pious shoulder. Honeylove, that's not me and you know it. I will tell you the truth, I will always tell you the truth--whether or not you can handle it.

...And the truth is:

It wasn't right. Not that it was wrong, that boy and you together making waves. But it was never going to reach the tsunami proportions of Love.

There will be bathwater boys and deep sea romance, and it will come...

Just, keep swimming.

Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.

Yours, Truly.

PS. At least now you've got some experience ~~below the belt~~ under your belt! :p

How YOU doin'?

2010-08-23T23:31:00.001-04:00

Mmmm... oh hey you.

Thank goodness you're here, I was about to get desperate!

You know, I am acquainted with some people who have not discovered the joys of your touch.... poor things. What gets me is your versatility, if I want to be warmed up, you get to rubbin'--- I'm feeling frisky and you tickle me juuuuust right.

I see you're trying a new look, and what's that I smell? cha-cha-cherry?? Yum, get over here you stimulating strumpet.

I want you to rub me down and get me off. Don't you go slipping out the door now, just once is never enough... Like the Eurythmics sing it, I want to use you baby.

Whatever your name is--and you have many--I want to say now on behalf of women everywhere, and okay, the men too... You make life better. You spend your days, and allll of your nights making people happy.

Hell, I bet that Mister Jiffy went into car repair just so he could appreciate you properly, get your name on a biiiiiig sign and smile one of those special secret smiles that you seem to elicit every time he looked up.

Babe, I don't say it enough but, I Love You.

(even if you don't always hang out with the best crowd, they're better for having you)

Kisses (to start with...) from

Yours, Truly.

[Testament to the greatness of Lubricant]

Casual Romance

2010-08-19T14:11:00.001-04:00

You are not what I'm used to. but I'm willing to try you on for size (not that size matters...).

You know, I like the idea of sharing, but, as we learn in kindergarten, the hard part comes when someone actually wants to borrow your new toy. I might not want to give it up...

But so far I am pleasantly surprised at how easy you are to handle. I feel like an octopus, with my "hands" getting up to no good wherever they want to. No strings, no guilt, no obligation.

Your name is so fitting. Casual, yes-- I can feel it in the easy swing of step, in holding hands, in my lips as I purr into a waiting ear...

...But Romance is not dead and gone. You're not on the same level as 'One Night Stand' over there, oggling my ass... You give me tingles. You don't need my full attention and commitment to do it either. High five for skilllllz.

Maybe I think too much, in fact , I know I do.... but I want to keep your warm breezes, your walking too close and your freshness. I want to be that kind of girl... for a little.

We both know it's not going to last forever.... so let's have some fun.

And maybe some french toast?

Yours, Truly.

To Irrational Jealousy

2010-08-17T20:44:00.001-04:00

You fiend. You creep seep slip into my heart. Or is it mind?

I don't understand where you come from.

If heart, then I admit to caring more than I want to, if mind, then I am petty and ridiculous.

I know, there is no justification. I know there is no reason. But I feel... too much.

I feel inadequate... insufferable, sentimental, freakish--foolish.

And hypocritical, no one likes to feel that.

I may deny you, but you will be there.

There to beat war-drums in my skull. To hot glue my hands into fists.

You will delight in your short-lived existence.

So have your fun, poking the back of my throat into lumpy oatmeal, far too sticky to swallow.

I will bide my time.

Working on my visualization, strengthening my rationality.

And damn your nationality!

I can think you out of sight.

Out of mind.

Out of heart.

You're nothing but my insecurity, my vanity, my possessive nature....

But always and somehow I am Yours. Truly.

PS. I still wish you wouldn't ruin my fun like this... come back on the 12th of never?

We Meet Again....

2010-08-12T15:00:00.001-04:00

You sir, are addictive.

I think you know, but in case no one has told you, that is the truth to a T-shape.

I watch from afar your manly corners moving, turning, settling, your day filling out perfectly--- when it's a good one....

You may be a liiittle square by some opinions, but I find you colourful and interesting, complex and captivating. I love to watch you do your thing.

I think the reason I can't look away is that I want to be more like you. Everything has it's place... I just need to learn to put things in the right places.

Don't listen to the haters, Tetris. You are so much better than Brick Breaker.

Love and long pieces....

Yours, Truly.

Dear Rick Astley

2010-08-06T04:16:00.000-04:00

After you had that guerrilla stint of popping up everywhere and attacking the innocent with your 80's hair, a lot of people developed this rather large hate-on for you.

I am writing to say that I don't feel the same.

You inspire me, not only to improve my internet jack-in-the-box skills but also to hold on to what I believe in.

To stand up for the things and people I love and not worry about how ri-fuuuuckin'-diculous I look.

To treat people right.

To embrace the bouncy techno dance of life, however much people put it down.

Rick Astley, I'm never going to give you up.

Yours, Truly.

To the Former Athletes of the Year

2010-07-28T14:11:00.001-04:00

Photography is rather like magic. A flashbulb, a Nikon and a “wizard” who knows how to press the shutter release are the only ingredients needed to freeze time, to capture a moment of life, to make a photograph. Now you can say: “That’s me. I was there.” Wherever ‘there’ is or was, you have proof.

You like to immortalize the best moments: when you score, when you look great, when you are on top of the world. I am glad for your happiness, your matte smiles conveying each day the same sense of acceptance. You seek to welcome and include as many individuals as possible into this small corner of the corridor. You invite such visitors to your hall-of-fame to share in the thick layer of nonsensical jokes you plastered the game-ball with. “Somehow,” you thought, “these will never go stale.” Alas, the day has come and gone.

Your faces—triumphant snapshots of dribbling, reaching, running, smiling—have been dismissed hundreds of thousands of times. You wanted everyone to see you in your splendour and feel inspired, maybe jealous—dammit they should feel something! But black and white can only reveal a shape, a shell, a shadow of humanity; never a man, a woman. It is in the way that your accomplishments are presented, spread out in an unconvincing attempt to please, like appetizers, meant not only to be admired, but also experienced. With hardly a glance at the various offerings one can dismiss them as “identically passé”.

You wanted to be remembered in more ways than the superficial act of keeping your pictures on display but, in this hallway, you had little chance from the start. The expanse of natural light—rare but desirable in a school hallway—outshines your glory days. The main attraction to your area is the girls’ bathroom, after the gymnasium. You would think supporters of physical education would understand and honour their predecessors; however, their minds are set upon their own goals.

Once again, you have been forgotten, neglected, passed over, ignored. It has come down to this: If you want to be remembered, it is your job to do the remembering—and now, mine.

Yours, Truly

Crying Baby Upstairs

2010-07-24T16:30:00.000-04:00

Please shut up.

You are cute, you are fluffy and pudgy and you have adorably minuscule fingers and toes...
But I am sleeping.

Please shut up.

I understand you cannot speak for yourself yet and when someone leaves you wet or hungry or soiled or you fall down after your experimentations with walking upright, you need to let it out...
But I am writing an essay.

Please shut up.

I don't remember your name. If I did I would say "Augusten," for that is a most dignified name to have, "please stop crying, you are young and as someone with more experience let me reassure you, things will get better." ...
But I don't remember it, and so I am left with:

Please shut up.

Please.

Yours, Truly

Ornamental Orphanage

2010-07-23T15:04:00.002-04:00

Dear things on the wall (which is not my wall),

There is a strangely appealing order in your chaotic masking-tape-tic-tac-sticky-border-madness.

I love the motley mosaic of postcards from places I've never been, but now wish to go— though I'm sure I will miss seeing the stylized city labels flaunting their attractions from amidst the always-azure skies of granulated cardboard.

From perfume to Paris to a page from a Chinese calendar there is something for everyone hanging on your every (illegible) word. You are not perfect, but your dinosaurs watch over my fragile sleeping form and your posters offer a variety of blushly-lipsticked goodnight kisses.

You tell me: I am confident, I am beautiful, I am desirable. And I believe you, who could mistrust your blatant bright pink pandering...

Tell me again?

Yours, Truly

To Tears

2010-06-30T06:23:00.001-04:00

Soft and salted caress, I know you're there; lurking just beneath the marble surface. The dark won't tell anyone you've come, it's safe now.

Tentatively at first, you're afraid someone might hear; might know that you haven't left town for good. No one wants you around, not even the one you've come to visit-- but once you arrive, you are invited in.

Embrace the swell of cheek and let yourself flow, you have no need to hide in the night, you can pour out your soul until you are empty-- begging to give more, but having only a dull ache left to give. Mingle with the whispered queries floating from trembling lips; shake with the fierce passion of loss and fear.

The world is a flat palm, holding its treasures. Sometimes the grief could sweep your rivers right off the face of the earth... into nothing. An eternity of falling, struggling for breath and getting lost in the rush of space.

You are at first a burden, and then a solace. Sometimes you could last forever.

But you end, like everything else. You do your part to soothe, to rage in tempestuous waves, to mend... and soon there is no place for you. The river has run dry and the heaving of earthly bodies slows to a mere tremble, a pulse.

Curving to envelop your absence,
Breath echoes your keening plea.
I thirst for you in hiccups;
And forever you indulge me.

-Truly

To those who stab pillows

2010-06-20T06:05:00.000-04:00

I think I saw you in a movie (Along Came Polly) and from the first moment I realized your existence, I hated it. I am all for living on the wild side a little, but I pay good money for the things I choose to put in my house and STABBING my upholstery will NOT get you in my good graces.

Somehow when they wrote that movie script (from experience no doubt) they made it seem justifiable and endearing... which is sooo far from the reality.

"Oh you're so uptight, have fun with me destroying your property instead of giving it away or just telling me to mind my own fucking business!!!!"

"I am soooo like totally justified in commenting on your lifestyle in the first place!"

"Can I keep this knife to stab myself in the throat with later? Thanks!"

Wow you don't like my furnishings? Well I don't like your shirt, how about I just rip it to shreds to teach you a lesson in good taste? Does that sound reasonable?

Whoever you are, wherever you are... All of you who watched that movie and thought "awww humourous and romantic!" Know now that if you ever pull that shit on anyone with half a spine, we "uptight" people will shank a bitch.

That is all.

Yours Truly.

Oooh Fire

2010-05-02T22:23:00.000-04:00

Heyyy! What's cookin' good lookin'?

Marshmallows? God DAYUM, you know how to get me all hot and bothered. I've been waiting all year for someone like you to light up my life. And now that I've met you I can't help but want s'more...

okay too many puns. I'm ~~well~~done.

But seriously, I've only seen you in small Bic sized doses for the past 10 months, and last night was a welcome change. I feel like we really connected (I still have the marks to prove it).

We should hang out more. You make the dark seem cozy and your smell practically makes me salivate. Plus you make drinking so much more fun!! Do you still have that fur rug laying around? I can think of a couple activities for our time together.... as long as you're cool watching. (SCANDAL!!!)

Just remember we may be friends but that's all we'll ever be, you try to touch me the wrong way again and I will toss a drink in your face. A whole BUCKET of drinks!

See you later hotstuff, I leave you with tons of burning love,

Yours, Truly

To Any Semblance of a Romantic Relationship

2010-04-09T21:54:00.001-04:00

I am lonely without you. There, I said it.

And yes, when you're gone there is that sense of empowerment screaming, "I don't NEED you!" But I always feel pretty empowered. I don't need this much. Seriously I could empower the entire appliance section at Sears. Overkill.

It's excruciating, the shape of you on lips all around me, your heat in the most casual of touches and your low sounds drifting through my pipes from the floors above. I want you, I crave you, I wake up in the middle of the night sad because you're not there. Fucking tease.

Don't get me wrong, I am not a wreck. I'm not falling apart, but I miss the warmth and the secrets and the...accoutrements of having you around. I miss hanging out with your friends; I could use a visit with Mr. Hank Y. Panky, he was always such a stimulating conversationalist...

Maybe what I'm trying to say is: friends will never be enough. They call it just friends for a reason. Basically, I can't hang out with you in a casual sense any longer. Be mine, or GTFO and let me focus.

Focus. It's a funny word when you think about it. It used to mean "fireplace" or even "fire" (Latin was good for something after all!). But what elicits fire from me... is you.

Think about it. Whatever you decide, I'll be living my life, laughing out loud and loving every minute. But I'd love it even more if you were there too.

Yours, Truly.

Did you Hear??

2010-03-31T02:46:00.000-04:00

Hello Earring!

You're shiny, let's play! I'll be me and you be a hula hoop. OW!--

--

Ear...

You hurt, I get it but please stop. It's just metal shoved right through your middle, not like your boyfriend dumped you over your potato salad at lunch and then had sex with your sister's ex best friend. Not like that at all.

Beauty is pain and I happen to believe you look lovely. Thank gosh you aren't one of those fat-ass ears... like that guy in front of us in Spanish. Whooowee his ears stick out like a sore thumb. Well, a sore ear.

I'll make you a deal: I'll stop sleeping on you if you stop spontaneously combusting, mmkay?

Yours, Truly.

To My Skin

2010-03-24T13:00:00.001-04:00

This is emotional for me. We are always together; you cover my back and I take care of you every day of our lives-- well I try. It'd be easier if you didn't have so many dirty secrets that you try to pass off as freckles to fool me. I swear to god there is a whole process to just getting through the day without you embarassing me.

But I digress; this letter is not about our problems. You have always been there for me, keeping all the important stuff inside so that people won't scream when they see me. And so I'll, you know, live. I don't hate you. You're not that bad (apart from that whole hatred of Sunshine you seem to have developed), in fact you are pretty damn gorgeous. I'd hit that (OW!).

We make a great team, I bring substance, personality, organs, sentience and shape and you bring translucent alabaster softness (put THAT in your romance novels!). ~~I'm~~ We're basically perfect! But I think we need to re-evaluate our relationship.

All my life you've been so damn clingy and the only people who wanted to hang out with you after I hit puberty were creepy boys. I don't know why Cotton is so much more popular, Skin, it's probably just because he's so "colourful" (*wiggles eyebrows*). But Sunshine is back and I think, I think it might be time to try again. You might even get some colour of your own.

Let me know what you think and if you're ready for some changes and maybe a new friend, I'll let you play in the moisturizer section of Shoppers Drug Mart.

Love/Hate forever,

Yours Truly.

To "Jacob", if that's even your real name.

2010-03-21T13:00:00.000-04:00

Hi there. We met when I participated in a psychology study on games. You almost ran into me coming out of the elevator on the wrong floor, remember?

I thought you were nice ~~looking~~ and that you were excited about our trip to Africa. I thought you liked me for me.

Imagine my chagrin (yes, I am smart enough to use the word "chagrin" without sounding pretentious, so deal.) when I was informed that you were A CONFEDERATE. A lab volunteer who spends his days playing OUR games with other girls, and guys too!

How could you do this to me Jacob? My sweet, sweet Jacob ~~who I spent exactly one hour with, ever.~~ ~~who is not even a little bit like a werewolf~~, I trusted you!

Anyway, I basically wrote to say ~~you're hot~~ that you have wounded my poor little heart, and I wish for you to get a splinter ~~of wood, haha!~~ in the near future, and think inexplicably of me.

Yours, Truly

Ps. you can totally still call me though...

Dear Shoppers Drug Mart

2010-03-19T12:51:00.000-04:00

I love you. I know that this may seem sudden but you make my life complete. You fill my days with beauty products and leisurely strolls along the Isles of Things.

When I see you my wallet literally jumps into my hands. My breathing becomes erratic, even if I'm feeling frugal with my attentions, there is always something tempting to find within your four walls. I wish-- I need to tell you, that I want us to stay together forever.

I will shop in other stores-- I have needs and you cannot meet them all. But you will always be my Shoppers. You give me medecine when I am sick and lipstick when I am down. You understand me and I love you.

Yours, Truly

PS. Are you hiring?

Dear Rain,

2009-04-30T13:00:00.000-04:00

I see you've come back to my neck of the woods. I was expecting you; it's like clockwork every year you and your April Showers.

It's been a while, but gotta say, you're looking fine. Bigger, louder, bolder, wetter than I remember. It seems like every time we meet you look better than before. Pulling a Benjamin Button on me? Maybe a Max Tivoli? I always preferred Max, he has a sweetness about him. Tall glass of rainwater, that one.

You get a bad rap, it isn't really fair. It isn't your fault that some lady planned her wedding on a day you're working. You can't help it if people don't happen to enjoy their picnic food soggy. And just because your best friends are a little rowdy doesn't make you the bad guy when Little Tommy's Dog hides under the bed.

I like to focus on your good qualities: your whisper, your green thumb. I don't mean to be forward but you make me feel sexy as hell just standing there feeling you all over me. Rain, you are the absolute best way to get wet and I mean that with all connotations intact.

I love the exhilaration that comes with running from you, laughing as you chase me about. I've been trying to outrun you since I was 5, zigzagging wildly about and telling mom how I beat you at tag dripping quietly on the kitchen floor.

Just wanted to tell you that I'm rooting for you. I won't say that I don't need some time for myself, a little space. (You don't want to become the geek in math class who girls wish they hadn't ever cheated off of because as soon as you receive eye contact you become an obsessed stalkery mess and drool all over their yearbook picture.... in front of them. Ew.) And yeah, I'm friends with Sun too, so we'd probably hang out.

But hey, you should come over sometime and we'll have a picnic lunch, heavy on the H2O.

Yours, Truly

Dear Blog,

2009-04-28T22:09:00.000-04:00

I'm going to help you start over.

No pressure, because no one reads you anyways.

You never had a focus before, so I'm going to give you one, it will rock. Trust me.

Just wanted to say, Good Luck this time!

Yours, Truly