MTHRFCKR. / Comments

Dear Conner,

I tend to hide from my emotions. I tend to bottle them up somewhere and throw them out so I don't have to face reality. Because, and I'll be frank, I don't always like reality. Whatever I'm truly feeling just is. I don't think it defines me, I don't think it defines a situation. Probably because that true feeling is namely regret, most of the time.

But it's going to be. It's weird, sometimes I feel like this moment is the only one that really exists. This year, this month, this week. All the rest is just background information, something forming whatever I'm doing right now. I feel that we're really just locked here forever, and that we're not going anywhere. Not growing up, not moving on, not getting anywhere. And I think I like that idea. I'm afraid of being twenty, I guess. Because that's two decades. In a little bit less than a year, I'll have been alive for two entire decades, and I don't even know where it's all gone. If you were to ask me about most of my life, I wouldn't be able to tell you. I couldn't recount it. It's funny how little we truly remember, how things fade over time.

I don't know what it's going to be like for me. I think I know that I'll give her another chance. We sort of decided that we would re-evaluate once she got back from England. I think I'm secretly hoping that going back home will remind her of everything that we've been through together, everything that we have together. She's going in the fall for four months. She's coming back in December. I don't know, though. Maybe four months apart is exactly what we need. Maybe I'll change my mind between now and then. Whatever it is, I'm fucked.

I like distortion, too. I feel like it's just showing us a different view of reality. Like it's seeing it through a different lens, but seeing the exact same thing. Like everything, every view is the exact same one, but we're just looking at it from a different angle. That's jibberish, and not very well thought out. I'm in kind of a weird mood, like I'm tired, or something. Fuzzy. I feel fuzzy.

I love you most. You're my favourite. Out of all of them you're the best.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

I'm not sure I'm such a fan. It fucks me up, makes me need something. I like being stable. Not static, but sturdy. Constant. Independent. In my own fucking box.

I can't think to our future. What if we grow up? What if we never work out? What if I never love anyone else? I'm terrified to think I'll be alone for the rest of my life because I can't give up on the tiny hint of a romance that we used to have. I hate what she's done to me. But I can't blame her. I hate what I let her do to me. She has me, and she knows it. She never meant to, I don't think. Whatever we had just happened. And the thing is, it's always going to be there. It's always going to be those idealized years of perfection and beauty and completion, compared to the other years. The ones with the heartbreak and the settling and the job and wife and house and mortgage. We never had a fairytale, but we had something better than reality.

Teej and I spent it pretending. We played hide and go seek and tag in the house. Then we threw stuff at each other, whatever we could find. It was sort of a game of dodgeball, but there were no rules at all. I spent the rest of the time cleaning. I'm not sure why. It wasn't dirty, it just wasn't immaculate, and I had this urge to make the things I have nice again. I also watched re-runs of Arrested Development, and that made me happy. That show always makes me happy. I don't know why. It's so ridiculous, but it's so perfect. And I thought a lot about teeth. Teeth and smudges. I wish I had something more interesting to tell you, or I wish I could make it interesting, but this sort of grey doesn't really inspire me. There are very lovely shades of grey. Like on a clear night when the sun has set, but it's not really dark yet. You can still see everything clearly, but the world has a dark tinge, a black and white impression of its reality. It's not a real time of day, it's not dusk, it's not night, it's not day. It's just a nameless, wonderful grey. It's my favourite time of day.

I love you, Mae.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

When I finished reading that comment it made me smile really big, because I feel like just with that, we're back. Or I think that's why I'm smiling. It's not a particularly happy story, but it reminds me why we're friends. I don't think anyone could speak of a one night stand with an ex so beautifully as you did. I know I couldn't. Whenever Riley and I hook up, I feel like shit for completely different reasons. We never get wasted and fuck. It's always when one of us is most vulnerable, when our anxiety is taking over, when we need someone to remind us that we're not really alone. That's when we call each other with no intention of falling apart, no intention of forgetting why we broke up. Sometimes we do, though, because sometimes she's the only person that can make the world stop spinning so fast, and when I hold her, the world stops for a second. It simply halts, as if to tell us that it's alright. When she rests her hand on my neck where she can feel my pulse race as she stares into me with those swamp eyes, I have to catch my breath, because just that, the most intimate of moments, makes me forget my existence. And for a single night, we only remember each other. We get carried away. She lets me tell her that I love her, she lets me recall exactly why. And then the next morning, I still know, and it makes me feel funny. Because I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want her. It rekindles the feelings of lust and reliance, it makes me want to run away with her and forget the rest of the world, tell everything else to fuck off. I have an intense longing to have her back, but there's this tiny part of me that says that we won't work again. I think she does, too. Because when I ignore it, she doesn't. She reminds me. She leaves me. And my heart breaks, and my head aches, and I'm without her again. Because that's how it has to be, and we both know it.

As for my turn, I don't have anything to tell you about. My life has been fun, but not noteworthy. Today it's a gross rainy day, not the stormy kind of rain that I cherish so much, but the muggy occasional sprinkle, continuously grey, nothing to watch, nothing to hear, nothing to soak in. Just grey.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

Let's go for it.

Tell me a story.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

Why is that?
I think I miss our conversations, but I don't always have it in me to reply anymore.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

That makes sense, I'm glad it's that way, though.

THAT'S MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME. I wish I could say the same.

Well I don't know. I can't really figure that out, so I'll let you know when I do.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

I wish I could say the same, but I love Sugarbear a little too much.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

I'm sorry to hear that. but there was tension, yeah? I guess I don't really know much about relationships. I guess I don't really know much about anything. And I'm sorry this is a little late. I've been really busy. It's been weird.

Love,
Mae

Dear Conner,

Sleep is a wonderful thing, and I'm afraid I don't get enough of it, even though I'm on vacation and my son is out of town with his mother and my responsibility is equal to Sugarbear and keeping myself clean.

I don't like this whole idea of growing up. I wish I could cling on to my youth for just a second longer, I wish I could stay young, stay eighteen for one more night, because nineteen is almost twenty, and twenty is almost thirty, and thirty is almost fourty-five, which is almost fifty, which is midlife crisis time.

I'm sorry about your mum, but I'm sure you'll get a job somewhere. But can she even give you a curfew anymore? You're nineteen years old, you're legally an adult.

I think I may be in the exact opposite boat as you are. All of my friends are coming home, and absolutely none of them are getting jobs or anything. We spent all of our work ethic in high school, so now we're in college we have no reason to continue, especially since most of them are just crashing with their parents. We've been living it up. I think it's living, at least. It's been fun.

I wish you weren't trapped. I really do. I want you to be happy where you are. I want you to have a beautiful life, because you're such a beautiful person. I hope everything gets better. It will, it's probably just a dull streak. But don't let it consume you. I've let it get to me before, and once you get out of it, you try so hard to make up for it that the adventure seems forced.

In other news, TJ got ants in his pants the other day. Literally. We were in a public place, too, so we had to head to the bathroom so that I could shake the insects out of his briefs while he brushed them off of his junk. It's been a weird day.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

I love you too.
I would reply to the rest of the comment but I'm exhausted.
I'll reply tomorrow, I promise.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

I'm thinking about it. I might just be on a regular sleeping schedule by tomorrow because of this. I didn't sleep because I was waiting for the world to end, but then it never did. I mean, I opened my window at 5:59, and the only disaster was my neighbor sunbathing in a bikini on his roof where he thinks we can't see him. We can.

That happened to me about a month ago, I realised that I was living just like everyone else, and that I had a SCHEDULE I almost died right then and there. But good luck, and remember, don't be silly, wrap his willy.

Alright, let's do it. I don't know if I can do it on the spot, though.

Last night was amazing. Maybe you read my journal, maybe not, but my friend threw this huge blowout, and it was amazing. I can't really explain the feeling or the image of last night, I'm pretty sure that when I try to put it into words it just sounds like any other frat-like party, but it wasn't, not at all. We all sort of pretended our lives were over, although I don't think a single person there believed it. I fell in love with a nameless face on MDMA, and we did it under a skylight, I've never seen anything so beautiful. And I don't know if I'm talking about her or the stars. And all the anonymity, all the dismissal of consequences led all of us to let go, and even I crossed something off of my bucket list. It was about midnight when I decided that I had to ride in a hot air balloon, right then and there. So we called a friend of mine who knows someone who runs an agency that rents out balloons, and fuckit, aforementioned girl and I sailed through the sky at one in the morning. After we got back, I don't remember much else, but I remember being happy the entire time.
Is that what happiness is? Not even caring what consequence is? I think it might be. You're completely freed from what could happen if you screw up, what people might say the next day. I don't think it even matters if you do something legendary or something wrong, I think you still get the same sense of freedom just feeling that way.
I don't know.
I don't even fucking know.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

I'm having trouble typing this morning and I don't know why. I think I'm coming down from all the Adderall I took last night, I'm shaking and my heart is pounding.

I did. I don't remember half the shit I did, I just remember that it was worth it, and there was a hot air balloon. Tonight TJ and I are getting ready to battle demons together under the firey sky as the earth cracks beneath our feet. Sugarbear, however, plans on getting Raptured.

I love you too. We're probably the greatest duo to ever walk this earth.

Love,
Mae.

P.S. I meant to write more, but suddenly I got really distracted and forgot what I was saying, so I sent it before I got distracted again.

Dear Conner,

I'm sorry that Thomas has been blowing you off, he doesn't know what he's missing.

That could be completely false, but I see some merit to it. It makes sense, I think.

Love,
Mae

Dear Conner,

I'm glad I made an impact somewhere.

It's been sunny all day. It doesn't really match my mood. I'm feeling fake again. Stupid, quiet, conventional, and not really staying true to myself.

I don't know who Thomas is. Please enlighten me.

Love,
Mae.

Mae.
I fucking miss you.

Hi :D

Dear Conner,

I just want to make an impact, somewhere, somehow.
And I don't see it happening, and I don't like being insignificant.

And Sugarbear likes Salvador Dali's works, as far as I can tell.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

I miss you.

Love,
Mae.

Dear Conner,

I guess you're right about that. I guess the finality of the break up never really hit me until now. We're so over, so done, more than we've ever been before. We're moving on, 100% not together anymore for the first time since we were fourteen. We never officially got together until we were fifteen or sixteen, but there was this feeling between us for years, this understanding from the time that we knew what attraction was. I just watched part of Pirates of the Caribbean over my breakfast. Yeah, it's 9 pm and I ate breakfast. But my point is that she looks like Kierra Knightly. Not just a little bit like her, but pretty much a doppleganger. When she walked on stage on the Daily Show on Thursday night, I had to do a double-take to recognise that she wasn't being interviewed.

I think the universe wants to strengthen us. Or weaken us. Challenge us, yeah, but I think it knows how much we can do. Maybe it doesn't want us to shatter, just crack so that we have something to heal from.

It's always warm here. It's been in the 90s lately. Too much sun, not enough grey. I miss the grey rain of London.

Love,
Mae.