Do you ever cry on behalf of me?
I spend my days in a mundanely wet, comfortable loop. When I think about the way I feel lately, sedated, I remember a time when I walked down Sparr Boulevard as a kid and wondered if I would get to live in my parents’ house forever. I like the smell of rain and I like to see yellow houses covered in it. Recently I have done research for a paper that I should have finished in my undergrad years about how men will never feel as deeply as I do on the basis that they’ve got a penis attached to them. Not their fault I suppose. I am torn; I cannot decide if that’s a sexist thought in itself, although based in linguistics. Speaking of writing, Haruki Murakami is in the surprise stimulus packet I’ll release to my sophomores tomorrow and nobody but you will ever be as excited as me. You are the only one who’s heard me rant about that weird man I admire for no apparent reason. His writing reminds me of my walks. His comeback from my hatred, legendary.
Some more thinking I’ve done on the subject of ways I feel: There is an element of knowing that has been taken away. You are no longer the subject of my pre-period rage. It has been three months since we’ve talked on a daily basis much to your pleasure and my uncomfortable growing pains. You do not know the little things that float around in my eyeballs anymore, slowly migrating into my head. In the openness of the internet, I will tell you some little things that I’ve wanted to send in one of those emails I used to on days I missed you but you had to work. I have found it helpful to tell my new friends these little things every time I have an inclination to contact you in one way or another but I am now uncomfortable in the closeness I’ve brought upon myself with this change in routine.
Things:
- The top of my foot was especially itchy a week ago and I thought about my options: cut it off to resolve the issue immediately and move the pain, then sell the foot to make some extra money
- I systematically avoid responsibility by rearranging the objects in my snail’s tank, giving her a new water bowl last Tuesday
- The reason for my new acne along my hairline under my bangs is because my oily fingers find their way up there whenever I feel stressed
- I found my book on how to make a Christmas quilt in a box labelled college, thought it was weird
- I dreamt I was in high school again because I got demoted from teacher to student and became an undercover teacher who got kicked out of high school for being too “defiant against authority”
- I found something or other of yours the other day but don’t remember what it is and now it’s bothering me
- I went to a new library and found all the Haruki Murakami books which I have not ever in my life seen at a library before
- I thought Percy (heating pad) exploded in the microwave and was relieved to find out he did not
Someone on Reddit told me that I must be a naturally socially inclined person, and rather than fighting it, I need to be softer on myself. That made me cry. But the person who told me those things, while they may be similar in emotion to myself, hasn’t known me in all my glory like you have. Ultimately, you know me the best out of anyone. But I think we are reaching our limit to that closeness I love the more you withdraw from me into the comfort of your own individuality. For my 24th birthday I should logically say you won’t know me well enough to get me anything. Now, knowing you and the way you are already melded with me in a way I am not willing to do with anyone again, I’ll probably get some hyper-specific sewing supplies that I can only fantasize about currently, or a sweater with a fish emblazoned across the sleeves and chest that I looked at once and dreamt about twice. You will either hand it to me directly or leave it at my door. We don’t know yet.
Do you think Our Lady of Perpetually Extreme and Lasting Sorrows will cleanse our spirits come the evening before the first? Yours, removed of a fear for commitment and mine for a fear of trust. Do you think last Tuesday you could sense something was wrong and that’s why you tried to come over, just to check on me? I wonder if instead of lilacs on my bedside table someday, you’ll string up yellow-y white lights in the backyard of a house we bought together. For financial reasons we’d do this scheme, obviously. Best friends such as you and I go all in on all of the things, all of the time.
At the end of this new month I’ll be reminded that two years ago I asked you to call me a label. We were standing in a grocery store parking lot by my car. I said I asked because it was the modern and European thing to do but really, and I’ve never told you this, I was very scared someone else would come and coax you away from me. I could not have that happen. I believed you were perfect for me in that moment in time. I will not tell you if and how my thoughts on the subject have changed lately; it’s your turn to go first this time. I’ll text you on the 28th before I go to sleep that I love you. I won’t expect a response and I won’t be openly upset, don’t worry.
With my eyes closed I’ll imagine things are okay and that my acknowledgment of a stupid day we’ve never celebrated in any capacity hasn’t scared you away. In fact, you’re wrapped around me. Instead of smelling your cologne on a sweatshirt I stole for emotional attachment reasons and would likely need years of therapy upon it being taken back, I’m smelling you mixed with cologne in the crook of your neck.
And even though you’ll probably never say it again, let alone write it down in one of those mailed out letters, when I miss you so much I put myself to bed early so I can pause making memories for a while, I still whisper to not forget how much you love me over the course of the night.