These are not my real parents ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Imaginary letters Dear Love I think that my hesitancy in seeing you has nothing to do with you. These days when imagining a hot and sweaty encounter I no longer imagine your hands on me or the bumpy skin on your back that you hate so much. I can barely remember the warmth of your breath on my neck or the twitching of your limbs whilst you sleep- the short sharp exhales you make out your nose when dreaming. I should write this in the past tense- you may sleep for all I know like a happy dog these days. None of these things are what stop me from seeing you. I guess that I'm in the stage that comes after loss and anger. I don't know what stage that is. Maybe I'm still a little bit in the anger stage.
I can't see you for other reasons and its not because I find myself bumping up against prickly things you said. You said hurtful things almost every day and I kept coming back for more didn't I?
I remember how once when we were lying together you said, 'We don't really fit together well do we?' Yet I'll be standing in the shower and I'll think of you joining me. I'll recall the 45 minutes that I'm not supposed to 'ever talk about' where you cried because you knew how useless and futile and pathetic our love is- was. So all of this is on the way out, done and dusted and I'm left with a stupid hope of one day loving you again and knowing that I'm little more than a sad pathetic old lady to you for feeling that way. I'm the cat lady in training- the one with matted hair who mutters to herself and doesn't hear the kettle whistle blowing. The reason I can't bring myself to accept your dinner invitation of marinated chicken wings happens to be your stupid jokes that were inevitably stolen from every other funny guy in the world. That and I don't want to not love you. I don't want to see you and from the other side of our love affair look upon you with independent eyes. Last and by no means not least- its something to do with the feeling that I was contained by you. I know that it sounds strange that I would miss being contained but I do. Whilst we were together- whenever I opened my mouth to tell a story or laughed at one of your jokes when no one else did- or when I did something clever or sweet- I felt like you were holding your hand up to your eyes and I was always shining a little too bright for you. Don't be so worldly you would think, don't be so different, don't be so you. I loved to ruin your day like this as often as I possibly could. I can't see you because I don't want to see you happy to have me around, Love A. (p.s I'll never stop loving you and for all of your days you'll know that and I hope it makes you suffer.) 2:35 p.m. - 2010-01-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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