Dear-
I wonder who this is to exactly. I don’t know that I’m quite sure. I miss you. I miss all of you. I wonder if you think of me and I have to say, I doubt that you do. One is too young. One is too distant. And the last one refuses, so why do I ask for you at all?
I met you tonight, in the living room of a friend. Your hair was fuzz standing straight up off your head. You were watching a crime drama; you used to love those so much. So much so that Steph and I might’ve been worried about you, and now you’ve gotten away with a disappearing act. You knew all the secrets to doing it by the time it finally came. You were worried about the dangers of life, you said as much. You were worried for us but in the end it was you who left too soon.
I saw you on the shining screen of a photo phone. You were smiling with your head laid on your shoulder. Your father was watching you for the night, lording over your soft curls and pudgy cheeks. You were in mid spin, you were laughing, you were pouting, you were playing. And all I could think was that you were so beautiful, if I saw you in this moment my eyes would burn.
You were lounging outside by a bonfire. You had your knees splayed as you intently watched the flames burn themselves out. Were you thinking about the way that love is sometimes like that? Seeming to erupt out of nothingness and then pull itself back into darkness? You had a smirk on your face. It couldn’t have been you; you never smirked. But I thought of you as I watched a boy too smart for his age and too cool for words.
I’ll be honest. I want to love someone. And barring that I want a kiss. Maybe including that. All I know is that I feel completely self contained, and it is a dreadful thing.
Love,
Marianne
