What's valentine's day when you've got nothing to say?
6 notions on love and feeling the waves of it
one for each
leave what resonates, take the rest
send to a sweet lover or a mean ex
Love letter 1, for the crushing
I see the whole world in you. I did yesterday, I do today. Some will say it’s a codependent danger zone, entitlement, laziness, salvation-softened imprisonment, abstinence from decisions, foolishness; my therapist has nothing to say upon my disappearance because she hasn’t made me feel better about my body or the state of the world, and for the weekly direct debit going out of my account, venting for an hour with no resolve just doesn’t fit my margins of a good strategy. I don’t care about psychology or taxes. Or doing my hair. I just dream about you now, retreating to my pillow, and what a sight. I love your hands and how they move me. Your outline is how I’ve seen the world, merging with the ocean of you. Oxytocin surge. Like a prism, we dissipate the light. I love your walk and all your navy sweaters. I love how I sometimes borrow your clothes but you keep track because you’re just as attached to your objects as I’ve been since I left forever. It was a whirlwind, sure, when I felt like I had nothing to offer but some words on a napkin, squeezed between your fingers. What’s lost in ambition is gained in softness. We both carried the baggage we assigned each other and it was so tender in the middle of a shaky fire escape. Timing is always right but rarely kind to me. It takes more than courage and a pinch of salt to make a thing work. Let’s make it work.
Love letter 2, for the hurting
Psychedelics, microdosing, floating, infrared sauna, deep tissue massage, breathing exercises, leadership books, CBT and CBD in sequence, a spending problem, a cocktail problem, a travel problem, a meeting up with men I barely know problem, a meeting up with men with the same name or nose or dimples as you just for proximity problem, over the counter solutions for the one amnesia instance I just cannot solve. Try it all I did. The worst, by far, was EMDR. Look to the left, look to the right. Repeat until healed. I’d go on to have vivid recurring dreams of our last coup, each time getting more defensive and pushing you closer to a breaking point, and you still stood there, unaffected. Come morning, I was meant to play house with nonchalance too: pack my lunch, brush my hair, go to work. Calling in sick because you’re stuck in a dream loop about an ex that’s hardly an ex isn’t reason enough for PTO, apparently. Call the insurance. Call the priest.
from: the day he changed his profile picture
Love letter 3, for the disappointed
There is the me that does things and the me that feels them. They’re two different women. They’re both audaciously kind, but one is always begging to go to the wrong place. Castles, palaces, freshly baked bread, whatever. On one of the nights, you weren’t there and I felt like throwing up, undoing calories and loving. It wasn’t much different in velocity than dragging my feet through the snow. Humiliation breeds resilience. Still, hope was there. Hope? For a dozen misspoken texts and something left unsaid on purpose and many other grudges you were too busy to repeat to me? Something is always off in the air right before the bad scenario. Let’s play a game, two truths, one lie. This city is too small for our beating, daring, grand hearts. We were made for something bigger. You and I see our futures intertwined in bliss and lustful Sundays. Today, I’m looking at three lies staring back at me.
Love letter 4, for the jealous