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
There are things that I miss, of course. The sex is the first thing that comes to mind, and free museum admission. But there’s also the tangling legs before falling asleep and someone to wander around museums with. Also reading aloud in the morning, laughing about classical feminism. I also miss the potential and so many things that simply didn’t happen yet. Can you miss things that never were? Apparently.
But I’m happy despite this occasional sense of lost potential and all these bad dreams. Over all I can say things are good. This spring is bringing change.
Something you did made me bleed so you are doing it good enough. We can get into that later, though.
I don’t want you to think anything I’ve said was meant to make you change. I like you as you are and I really don’t need anything different than what you’re offering. I’m someone who can see that, at least. I hope that it’s obvious that I like you and that you get to me in all the best ways and that you don’t need to be someone else to keep doing that. Just keep calling.
Oh gosh. I’m realizing that I’ve said things, told you things that might make you think you have to change. But you don’t, you don’t. You’ve done everything right so far and it’s wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. So please do not think you have to be more “manly” or domineering or anything else I’ve said because you are good and if I didn’t think so I wouldn’t have stuck around for even this long.
Dinner and drinks and orange juice when we get to your lovely apartment. Those looks I’m so used to before our lips collide and then the question, “Would you like to leave the kitchen?” And so we do and stop in the hallway and my back on the wall and here is your bedroom. My legs, your arms, your height, my hair (always too much hair). How you can pick me up and when you kiss my forehead I don’t get mad and you laugh at the stupid things I say and are appropriately nerdy. And how I can read aloud to you in the morning and that is OK and lying together is just swell.
I shouldn’t count so much so soon but it’s just so nice.
It’s been a different but wonderful evening. I made my own dinner and it was healthy and homey and I did the dishes and wondered if the third date was too soon to suggest that I cook for him because I’m really good at talking myself into things and looking way too far into the future. But it would be nice to have someone to share these things with (you know, you know) other than my roommate, my friends. I love you but it just isn’t the same.
So I’m dating this guy. That is to say I’m going on dates with this guy. Or at least I think they’re dates. I’ve never been sure about these things. I just know that I can’t decide what to wear and I smile a lot so it must be something at least good. But anyway…
I’m dating this guy. And I like him as a person and I’m telling myself to like him more because I know that he’s a good guy and we’d go well together and he’s not like All The Others most likely and he would go to the Math Midway with me and actually be excited. And he guessed things correctly and damn it’s always so impressive when they do that especially cause so few people actually get these things right (counting this one I can say two, MAYBE three).
So I’m telling myself to like him more and be happy and stop stopping myself from seeing good things. I think it is working. I don’t know if it is right or wrong, though, and I don’t want to hurt any one.
Every time I see the envelopes from you I feel that I should write again. Granted you haven’t written to me (though it is my turn…but still). Today I actually read the letter. THE letter. And now I feel more compelled than ever to write and yet I have no idea what to say. Do I mention what was and wasn’t? Do I tell you I’m in New York? Do I ask where you are, how you have been, whether you’re with someone? Would that all hurt too too much?
It is a New Year. I have a brand new computer (Shelia II) and an internship at a place that I love.
Maybe this year I will have different things so say. My resolutions are to be more proactive against my depression, be better about deadlines and eat healthier. I’m also going to start yoga and/or pilates which will hopefully help me transition back into dancing.
I hope that this new year finds all of you in good health and high hopes.
My mom and grandmother were riffling through some of my grandmother’s old sheet music from her days at Vassar when they found a letter written to my grandmother by a boy who was fighting in WWII at the time. He died soon after sending it.
Sometimes it knocks the breath out of me, how similar things in my life (or my family’s life) are to things I’ve written without my even knowing or intending it to happen. This, for example, is part of the plot of one my favorite stories of mine. Other things, of course, have been eerily accurate, but also more personal and thus possibly self-fulfilled. But oh this, this is so much.
