I look at everything in halves.
It’s as if my food is getting half eaten, and I guess that’s enough.
Even the number of words I use have been affected. I never thought i’d tell myself to stop talking and be a little quieter, but here we are. I guess things can change.
I use a smaller amount of words now and I’ve started to think about what to say. I never thought of my words as an unfinished sandwich
A masterpiece with the crusts cut off.
I would write full letters.
I’d joke about novels, but I’ve realized 8 trips around the sun could fill volumes. I wonder how many times I’ve put pen to paper hoping we would talk about them one day, not through letter or screen, and I would laugh while that line in the corner of your eye did that THING i can’t seem to resist because I stored it in my memory bank as a girl.
I’m not a woman now, but I guess I relate to that Britney Spears song more than it was possible at 8 years old.
When he has time for you-
there are roses in the bathroom,
there’s pop songs sung in the shower. The absolute worst- but I still want you to know about my love for boy bands and teen pop, and how I can tell you as much about an obscure pop song from 1987 as I can about R.E.M. or The Replacements.
When words are consistent,
it brings a warmth like a slow burning candle or an ocean sunrise (have you ever seen one of those?) I tried really hard to quiet my mind at night when I’d sit looking at the ocean with my cheap beer in hand, but i really thought about you, and how annoyed (or maybe not) you would feel if I told you I didn’t want to leave this spot, sans for the 45 minutes I’d watch an episode of “Dawson’s Creek” on the TV i kept on a low murmur all day.
My smile is always brighter. I actually hummed to myself while walking around a home goods store (who DOES that? I’m sure you can gather that I most certainly do not, but here I was, probably humming some tune you would hate if I forced you to listen to it 65 times in a row. I would do it, but I want you to want it.)
Yesterday’s words are always there at a push of a button that I can read,
but do you know how much they actually mean to me?
I don’t know if this is a matter of investment, and i’ve never thought about feelings being on a conditional basis, and they probably aren’t, but why am I going back to read yesterday’s paper when I’ve crumpled it up and i’m anticipating some new ink on a brand new day? Maybe I’d pass the paper to you, but that is definitely not all I want in life. Life is so much more than perfection defined as a quiet morning, it’s a mess, and my stress levels are on par to cry-vomiting, which I’m sure you didn’t know what to do with that information when I told you about some mess going on in my head.
I wonder what you would think of the stillness at 10am
that I believe to be my favorite part of the day,
and maybe I could share that with you just once or many times, and it wouldn’t be the silently amazing but mixed feeling I get if I choose to go back and read yesterday’s words.