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here is something
I do not know how to tell you that I feel like a child. Now, I know that I am not a woman (okay, we could argue definitions and semantics for ages) but there is an in-between. I feel so small and helpless sometimes. I want to tell you that when I was with Two and he held me and let me cry and then later held me and let me sleep and told me I was cute—not sexy or beautiful or the laughable voluptuous—and he was so much bigger than I am in how much space he takes up, not physically but with everything else his demand for things god it all felt right. I said I’m not in love with him and that is true but everything that happened with him happened… correctly.
I should just give these to you: I would hardly have to speak any more. The only problem is I’ve forgotten who some are for, who some are about. That would make things more difficult.
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love notes
these are things that I could not tell you;
things that remind me of you when I want nothing more than to forget;
things that have gone wrong;
things that have gone right;
things that will never happen;
things that are your fault,
my fault,
the faults of no one;
these are things that we did not do and will not let go of
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