Dear Me

I'm submitting this for something so I revised it

Dear Me

She sometimes sends me emails in the middle of the night. She never has, set times on anything. They could be short one sentence pieces; they could be 5 miles long. Sometimes I never read them I just, like looking at the number 1 standing there by the word Inbox. And when I do read them I will think of too many too long multiple replies. I couldn't show her I was laughing; a

'hahahahaha'

sometimes just didn't cut it. The obstructive-ness of language; of writing to her and not speaking with her and talking to and her watching her react to me reacting to everything she says. I would think constantly of French philosophers; if I could find some way to make my

'hahahahaha'

come off the screen with the same tone I would use and all those 3 dimensional feelings I had would come through to. I tried so many different variations of smiley faces but this

:D

could never really simulate me laughing and smiling and acting how I do when I talk to her.

I sometimes think that maybe; I only love her because she loves me. I only love her because I am delusional and I will accept anyone who told me anything with the letter L in it. But then I’ll remember that she doesn’t love me that way; and I just imagined and wished; that she loved me that way. I must love her then I guess.

Come pull me closer to the walls so I can feel how you have an instant pull that flows through concrete. After all; there are no after all's in a world where you're gravity's everlasting.

How many times do I have to write things down until they lift themselves off the table? I don't think it could ever actually happen. Jump into me for god’s sake; jump into me the ability to fly to her or at least; to write to her a little more three dimensionally.

Sometimes we plot 3 dimensional graphs on our calculator because we have nothing better to do in maths class and we sit there in the sun seeping through the window and everything is warm and sleepy and she’s next to me and she’s warm and sleepy.

Television taught me how life could never be so wonderfully edited with the perfect soundtrack and perfect timing and the perfect punch lines over hovering sunsets; she taught me life does not have to be like that to be perfect.

Sometimes we listen to Chopin nocturne in C minor but then she says that it upsets her. It upsets me a little bit too. Should we be more impressed by Mozart the boy genies or Beethoven the deaf wonder god? It doesn't matter they are both dead; when I close my eyes and when I can't see the titles on the CD I cannot tell them apart. Except I know Beethoven made

tun tun tun tun TUN TUN TUN TUN

and Mozart didn't. I can't tell the difference between Italian and French either.

Dear You

There are no, actual borders, that separate countries from countries; your country from my country. And that disappoints me; there are no thick black lines between countries that might have, at least slowed down the Nazi's approach to Poland. There is no equator or Capricorn or Cancer and there is no compass that points North. I can't ever remember where North point is; let’s see if the sun rises; in the east; and sets; in the west then I should be able to pinpoint North but I look up and its midday. The sun is dead centre and my eyes hurt from looking. Sometimes you tie up your hair real tight in a bun cause it's so hot. And we walk around pretending like nobody else lives here and that its only you and me and the dead centre sun. My hair is always on my neck and there's nothing I can do about it I suffer. You walk in such a way that you stay in my shadow so you stay cool and I don’t know how you do it with the dead centre sun but if anyone can do it it’s you and anyone did do it and it was You.

Maybe I use my commas and semi colons in all the wrong ways.

'There is no wrong way it’s just grammar you're not in high school anymore'

But we are wrong grammar counts in every aspect of your life you can never shake of its importance. You can shake off the importance of drawing 3D graphs on your calculator but you can't shake off grammar. The only thing that is constant is change, one thing is certain in life and that is uncertainty; when I was younger my parents owned a Foucault book and I never read it.

Don't over analyse things you tell me. I'm not; I'm just stating what some bald gay philosopher said years ago. Is it certain then; that my love for you is uncertain? And; movable, changeable, unsteady? If the only certainty is uncertainty then the certainty that my love is uncertain must be uncertain itself. I don't want it to be though, I want certainty that this; this inner chest motion this contraction in my ribcage when I think about; that this will go away because it’s almost annoying like hiccups.

I feel like it’s been 500 days; and sometimes I have the feeling it’s been more. You are so infuriatingly spectacular in my mind; yet so modestly yet confidently amazing; so very contradictory in my head. You're so contradictory, that I feel like you are fragmented; I hate your giggle. That way that you giggle and you look at everyone and you tilt your head down with your eyes to the table, and at them you smile and with their jokes you laugh and I sit there shuffling my feet feeling terrible down in the depths of my gut. That is the most annoying giggle I've ever heard. But I remember that you don’t smile at me that way and you don’t laugh with me that way because with me you look up and you look right at me burning your eyes in my cornea and you laugh big cucumber triangle shaped sandwich laughs and you smile lemonade on a summer day. And you never say anything that I hate when you’re with me because with me you say everything that is you, everything that is you from its centre to its core everything that you emulate when you wake up in the morning and I could never hate anything that was so you in that way. And with them you say everything that you can just form with your tongue and you stare at the table and you shuffle your feet. Once you told me that you felt terrible down in the depths of your gut and we went walking around town pretending we were alone and you paced in my shadow in the noonday heat.

Sometimes when you ask me to let you listen to my MP3 with me then I give you one earphone for the left ear and I keep one for my right. And I hate how the right ear is so overexposed and I start to get annoyed at you for asking. But you never complain no matter what song I put on you never tell me to change to something else; and you also bought me these headphones when I dropped mine in the fish pond. You watched me drop them in the fishpond, you helped me pull them out, you took me to the repair shop and you bought me new ones, handed them to me and you didn’t say anything, you never wanted anything back for them. And sometimes when we go out you ask me do you have your MP3 player with you? Then I go back to the restaurant because I check at your request and find it not there. And when I get back you look and me and you smile like Lemonade and you day lets go and you don’t say anything that I don’t like to talk about.

When we sat together and we shuffled our feet tired of walking and the sun was moving down the hill we would watch ants swarming around things, food, leaves, and other dead ants. What do they do at night? I don’t know I guess they just sleep. Ants don’t sleep. Oh, well then I don’t know. It’s actually starting to feel cold. Isn’t that funny how that works.

The different parts of you; are so split apart so completely un-whole that I have to split you up in my head; to try and fully understand you; to try and fully understand this. And then there you are all over in ever segment in every sphere of my mind. I fail at trying to understand this; this chest ache this Inbox Impatience; but I want to dive into you and discover you.

Dear Everything

Sometimes I go out and buy a Winnie the Pooh book; I like looking at the original illustrations I like reading the book. If there are never ever any tomorrows, then that must mean by default there must never ever be any today’s. Dear You; sometimes I love you and sometimes I don't love loving you. Often I don't love loving you; but even more often I forget that I do; because I feel like this hiccup annoying but fantastic splendid far from annoying feeling I get; is perfectly natural. Is perfectly expected; by anyone who hangs around you because you have a force that flows through concrete. But the point is I love you all the time whether I notice it or not whether I like it or not. If the only certainty is uncertainty then I'm fine; then you are fine but remember you are better than fine you are beyond expectations you are an A++; because what I feel is so very uncertain in the way it rises and falls. Because you are so very uncertain you have predictable -only predictable to me- wonderful, perfect, broken but perfect, characteristics but when you choose to assert them is random. And if you are so uncertain and if the things you invoke in others- not only me because you have a force that doesn't just flow through concrete it flows through oceans it flows through seas- if you are so uncertain in a definite certain way; it is undeniable your force but when and where it catches me I can never tell; then you are forever. Dear You; I sometimes write to you about my cat I sometimes write to you about my fictitious dog; I sometimes write to you about my friends and I sometimes write to you about MacDonald’s. But dear you I always seem to write to you about you; and I always seem to write to you about me. Dear You, Dear Me; Dear Everything: I love you like some chasm has opened inside me and its all your fault and I love you like some chasm was deep inside me and its all filled up and stuffed and its all your fault. I love you in such a way that my words come out 3 dimensional from the screen. I love you like oh; it is such a relief.