(I've decided to write in barebone gmails so that I don't concern myself with over-formatting.)
Yesterday was a weird day.
I woke up at 3 am and showered. It reminded me of those weird teenage-ry movies in which the main protagonist's (the "loser-but-somehow-still-normal-and-
That wasn't my 3:00 am. I just showered late.
I never seem to get those cutesy fairy tale endings (or beginnings); you know, with my boyfriend living 415.883 miles away and my own mind lost even farther.
Do you ever shower at 3 am and contemplate the meaning of female sexuality?
Why is it so easily taken? Whose really is it?
Why can't we keep it?
I wish my only problem was getting to school on time.
I've got 99 problems and all of them happen to involve men. Of course.
Manipulative, disgusting, abusive men. But #notallmen.
I just received your letter immediately after waking up this morning. I wrote some of it while I was half asleep around midnight and I'm now continuing it today.
I tend to do that. Leave messages to others broken and fragmented, unintelligible, nothing more than a scrambled mix of the English (and sometimes French) alphabet.
Which is why your poetry graveyard is so important to me. <3
I'm not very good with communication. It's why I write. And why I'm so honored to write with you.
We make an excellent team, you and I.
I want to grow up and be like Rachel and Fallon; I want to make something of the shit I spew from my fingertips and the grip of a messy pen.
I'm going to walk to the post office now and hope I can get enough money for a stamp outgoing to Canada. Why do we even need special stamps for Canadian packages? It's not like you're crossing an ocean or going on a plane or anything. Ontario is only six hours away, but the post office is making it seem farther.
I hope I make it there one day. He doesn't know I want to be an author yet.
He thinks I'm going to be a physicist, like everyone else. But I don't know.
He wants me to live with him and make lots of money, but I'm perfectly content with a small Pittsburgh apartment in which I write my novels and poems and short stories (okay, maybe I've never started one of those).
But I still love him. Which is why he bleeds into all of my work.
Wish me luck,