It's gotten pretty empty here. For awhile there, I had reason to try to forget everything. Lately, though... well, god damn. I've been remembering everything. And blaming myself for ever little part of it.
I talked to you only weeks ago, and at that time you told me I sounded a little squirrely. You were right, and it was the beginning of a block of sadness that is now tipping the iceberg and cracking it wide open. (that could have been my heart, that iceberg.)
I'm sorry for how hard things have been.
But things are hard here, too. Not the same as mine is almost all internal and eating me alive. Yours is all external and eating you alive.
I am grateful you almost never promised me things you couldn't deliver on. Children, marriage. You did promise me forever and that didn't quite work out, did it? BUT, we do have our talks. Once in a while and it's nice when it does happen. So, maybe there is forever. Just not the kind that i seem to crave. (A family, or at least people who love me no matter what)
I'm not coming to visit. Not this time, at least. I need a little more time. I need to see something new. I'm going to New Orleans and I'm going with an acquaintance. I COULD go to my high school reunion, many seem excited. But I'd rather put knives under my fingernails than pretend that I liked so many people or that I feel that it's not a game of one-upsmanship.
I miss you, dear. I couldn't mail this. I couldn't email. Not this time. It's too hard to say all of what is on my mind. (That i sometimes wish I would just die. That I hate every day that ends with a y. That I've lost all joy that I even remotely used to get.) You would hate to read all of this. You only wish the best. And I the same for you. We both seem to change and our not our scruffy pop punk selves anymore. We are new things, cleaner, more depressed (is that just me?), harder workers (as little as can be allowed), better drinkers, more worn for the wear.
Anyway, mostly this was written to tell you that I miss you. Almost everyday. And when I don't, I'm looking at my copy of "Gigantic Asses."
I fell for crime.
I fell for beauty.
- Oh, to my dearest one.