Anyway, Take Care

I know somehow, somewhere far, far away you are reading this. You probably went out early this morning to fetch yesterday’s mail from outside. It was chilly outside, but I know you didn’t put on a jacket or shoes to walk to the mailbox. You’re hair is all tied up at the back your head. You would sweep your hand through your bangs as you sift through the addressed papers. Junk mail. Junk mail. More junk mail. A magazine meant to be delivered down the block. Electrical bill. Water bill. No telephone bill since you never talk to anyone any more. A letter from your mother that you would throw in the trash without bothering to open. Catalog for children toys that you don’t need, but like to look at. And then this.

The outside I inscribed with red pen. I wrote your name all pretty with lots of curls and swirls to add a sense of grace that I never had to the letter. I didn’t leave my address so that you wouldn’t throw it away with the one from your mother. There’s three stamps in the upper right hand corner. Then you would wonder where on Earth this letter came from and how they knew your full name, which you never let many people know. You would consider chucking it in the trash bin, but curiosity gets the best of you.

You’re probably really confused about where this is going and to be quite honest, so am I. But you know how I am. Analytical to a fault. Pressured. Nervous. I really am the exact opposite of “a way with words”. I just have a way out of words. If that makes any sense to you, which it probably doesn’t (and, honey, that wasn’t an insult).

Okay. I’m babbling. I know, I know. I just can’t find the right words and you know how my mind drifts like it wants to avoid certain things all the time. Just, please, give me another chance and don’t throw this letter away.

What I have been trying to say this entire time is. Well. I miss you. With you so far away, it makes me feel like a part of me is missing. It’s like I’m missing a kidney or something. Without you sitting in my kitchen telling me that I should quit my job and get myself a decent outfit I feel as if I am missing an entire organ. Because I need you to live, really. But not in the I’m-going-to-die-if-you-aren’t-always-by-my-side way. Okay, it kind of came off that way, but what I mean is without you here my mind gets all foggy and I forget about the Cheerios in my bowl. I can survive without you, sure. But I can’t really live. Do you see what I’m trying to say?

Like right before I sat down to write (right) this, I had decided to eat some breakfast for once, since you say I should and all. So, I got out the pancake mix and the milk and a big bowl to mix it all in. But its just sitting on the stove because I got so caught up thinking about the time you fell off the swing out in my parent’s backyard. You remember that, don’t you? I still remember the way that I almost fell over laughing and you were lying in the grass and laughing too. Well, I started thinking about that and forgot all about the pancake mix and the milk and then I decided to write a letter to you. And then I got all sentimental because there is this great big ocean between me and you. And you don’t even have a working telephone. So, I went through all my things and all the papers I have piling up to find the address you left me a month ago.

I really wish that you would come back home, come back to this dumpy apartment of mine because all the quiet ricochets off the sides of the room. You made this place so lively and bright. I miss that feeling you gave everything. You gave my life meaning. You made me see past the darkness. And I do love you. I love you more than the sky, even if you don’t really believe that, I do. I always will.

If you care anymore or if you “finally found yourself” a country or two away, stash this letter away with all your broken dreams. You can pull it out whenever you are feeling sad or when you think that love will never get around to your heart. When you feel like the world is crashing down on your shoulders, take this letter out and read it and remember the time when we lied on the concrete and tried to count the stars. Perhaps I’ll write you again sometime soon.

Love,
Me.