Open Letter To:
I was in the dining room at this ridiculously overrated Halloween Party last night (terminable because of you) and I noticed the way you smiled and the stupid way you stuck your hands in your pockets and pretended not to notice me. Nothing was perfect, the music streaming from the “Party Shuffle” playlist pouring from the speakers, the crowd of people keeping us from one another across the room. Oh the cruelty of it all! Some terrible Radiohead song came on and for some reason, it made me think of you. You probably think that I am some blabbering insane creature but I am not. I really am not. I only want You. There must be something you want from me. If only You knew. These notes I write are hard to compose. I have refrained desperately from spraying them with my perfume, not that you’d notice-me trying to grab a hold of any of your senses whether it is: oral, nasal, aural etc, I don’t know. I just don’t know. After I see you on a Friday night I clench my teeth, and squeeze my eyes shut so tightly, my hands feel like claws, a helpless patient in an eternal dentist’s chair. It takes courage though, to look you in the face; an irritating and tugging courage. It stings. These feelings sting. My eyes are always ready for you in any crowded room. They want to grapple you, and lay you down in soft white sheets. The seeds of love have taken hold, and if we won’t burn together I’ll burn alone. I missed you today, whenever I am really tired I miss you. You think you are so clever. Last night was a “kitsch-is-cool” kind of night, and there were tons of chic admirers. People greet you. You smile big, you’re proud of who you are. There was more meaning to the hugs and handshakes than I am capable of understanding, for I am not accustomed to genuine affection from you. How is it, that I can say my life is empty? It seems there is an elephant in this room, and I am too scared to yell. So what’s the story, morning glory? Are you too nervous? Too shy? These are not liable excuses, I’ve known about you for over four months, and I thought you were too old to have not discarded these awkward, teenage, feelings. There should be no hesitation but, instead of talking with me over something insipid and casual, you sat down in the corner. Your presence made the rest of the night seem slightly exhausting, and vaguely demanding. The dancing in the lounge area, the draining of those tacky, orange, party cups, the glance from your disapproving brother that means I should go. I know what kind of person you are, and I know the kinds of things you say, the words you utter when you think no one is listening. But, I’m listening. I am always listening. Even when you mutter something indifferent. Take this into consideration. These miles between us, (figuratively of course) make me feel like crawling under a table and living there for a week.
There is no system to any of this thinking on my part. I am just thinking. At this point, I don’t even think you are a real person to me anymore. I realize now that I could be drowning in front of you, and you wouldn’t even take the time to notice. If I don’t erase the thoughts of this night from my memory and just walk from your car door to my front porch and leave you behind, sections of it will come back to me in nightmares. I hold a hand over my mouth, pretend to yawn, but really I am just concealing the scream.
I’ll slide down the surface things. I’ll pull myself together. It’s taken me a long time to like myself; I’m not going to let you change that. You missed it, as I sat in the corner, I looked really great. If you deny this, then it’s your fault. There won’t be anymore letters, its last call.