In light of recent revelations I feel as though I should write everything down that built up to those words. But you are not one for letters. No, you are not someone I can write meaningful, deep letters to, because I only want to say these things to you in person. But I feel as though I must write these things down because I can feel the thoughts floating through my mind like smoke clouds swirling inside me.

When I saw you first, I knew that I would fall hopelessly in love with you. I also knew that I would never, ever speak to you, because I am hopelessly shy and you seemed intimidating, almost. Now I know that I was wrong. But nevertheless. I saw you and I thought you were beautiful and I never speak to beautiful people because I am not a beautiful person.

“Oh no, I am going to fall in love with that boy and I will never speak to him”

And now. I don’t know when I actually fell in love with you. Maybe it was the first time you held me when I cried. Maybe it was before you kissed me, when we stayed up all night learning about each other; studying the nooks and crannies of each other. And you told me that I should do whatever I wanted and that I didn’t own anything to anyone. Maybe when you told me that I had a beautiful mind. Maybe when you asked me how it was possible that I existed at all.

I don’t know when you fell in love with me, either, and most days I still don’t believe it.

I love you and now I don’t know what else to say.


I went to see Gatsby yesterday and at one point, Daisy told Gatsby that she wished she had done everything in the world with him and it took all I had to not openly weep in the theater.

She had told me the exact same thing so long ago in a letter. And suddenly I could see our relationship in terms of the novel. I saw myself as Gatsby and her as Daisy. Or the green light. I hopelessly pined after her, completely oblivious that she was somehow controlling my life. That she could ruin me. Not that she meant to has me pain – of course she didn’t. It was simply my own fault for falling in love with a girl who could not and did not love me back.

But was that true? Sometimes, when I go back and reread the letters, it seems as though she loved me with as much force and passion as I loved her. Truth be told, I think she was confused about herself. She once insinuated as much, but things of that nature are most often avoided.

I miss her. I miss her hair. I miss her perfect hands. I miss the way my hair clung to her cheeks when she cried as I held her in my arms. I miss feeling her breathe. I miss her letters.

But time moves onward, and we move onward. She’s going to college in the fall, and I will return to the man I have devoted my life to, at the school I have been attending for a year now. We were not meant to be lovers, though it would have been a grand and beautiful affair. It would have been a short lived relationship, I am sure.

He is the one I am meant to be with, this I know. She was just a passing breeze which carried the scent of honeysuckle and the sweet promise of love. She is gone from me and I am gone from her. I hope that someday she will find someone who makes her feel as my man makes me feel. She deserves to be loved deeply and fully.

I hope she has someone to hold her hand.

we will always have that summer.

I’d like to say I’m sorry that I bumble and fumble with words. I’m sorry you saw me acting so crude. I’m sorry I can’t hold a conversation very well. I’m sorry I can’t tell you that I like you. I’m sorry that I’m sorry.

I really like you and I would like to hang out with you and touch your shoulders and hug you.

I’m sorry. I hope you can tell that I feel like that.

It was a sad day

I moved to leave

but you grabbed my arm

with that sound

small and tangled

in your swan throat

So I caught you

in my brittle arms-

clutched you tight-

and now you are carved

into my bones

(your name is singing

through my spine

and your sounds echo through my rib cage

your soul is still inside my lungs)

I still remember

how your tear stained hair

felt as it clung to my face

and how your breaths

caressed my neck

this is not when I fell in love with you

but when I realized

you needed me

Seeing your face stirred something inside me. Something I haven’t felt in quite some time. To be perfectly honest I haven’t felt anything in so long. I’ve been so empty. But I saw your face again in a video and suddenly the pit of my stomach dropped out and everything felt heavy. Despair overtook me and I was once again reminded of how I love you. I forget sometimes, now that we are apart. Now that my life is full of complicated mature things I never asked for. I miss your voice and your letters and the feeling of your hair against my face. How it feels when we embrace and I can feel you breathe against me. Your warmth. I love it. I love you. You are my light, you are the most important part of my life. You are who I care for. You are who I need. My starshine girl. You’ve given me a feeling I’ve been without for so long now. I love you my beautiful girl.


It comes in waves. The wanting. The loathing. The loneliness. The self-love. It ebbs and flows like the tide. I get stuck on cliches like that. I can’t tell what is what or even who I am.

Do I want to be in love? Do I want so called success? Do I want children? Do I want anything?

Most days I’m not even sure who I am. Everything feels wrong. Like when your sock gets twisted around in your shoe. There is an emptiness within me that I can’t seem to fill. Not food. Not money. Not a relationship. Even art falls flat these days. How can I cope like this? I need something to make me feel whole again. I’ve tried so many things. Nothing works for me.

On some level I feel as though a relationship could ground me. However I find that I am unfortunately devoid of attraction to anyone at this moment. And so the hole grows larger by the day, and I must move onward as best I can.

I couldn’t tell you the exact time or date that I realized I wanted to kill myself. I can tell you that it happened in the winter. The year I turned sixteen. The thoughts took hold of me and just wouldn’t let me go. They took me for the darkness; a sacrificial virgin, bled to appease the gods of pain and torture. And what I pretty sacrifice I make. A young thing with a diseased mind and a broken spirit. Weak from years of fighting harder than I ever would have imagined to be necessary. I had been tainted by the darkness which sits on the edge of our lives; somehow this dark army had infiltrated my weak defenses and claimed my addled mind for their own. I made no move to try and reclaim myself from the shadows. Somehow I found the darkness comforting, and so I allowed it to envelope my small frame, seep into my bloodstream, fill my lungs, settle in my mouth, and lastly conquer both my heart and mind. There is something endearing about that horrid darkness. Somehow you can feel that these monsters and shadows understand you – can hear your small voice crying out for help. They listened, and sometimes they answered. The shadows told me all the troubles which filled the world. Gave me the name of each foul creature freed from Pandora’s box. My pale heart could hardly bear this, and I fell into a heap, sobbing to uncontrollably that it would not have been impossible for me to drown in the salt water which pooled on the floor. The shadows stroked my hair and gave me the answer. So simple it could be, and it would be over, just like that. Hardly any complications. And the reward? Freedom from the horrid, cruel world to which I had been born a prisoner. These soft words comforted me, though I could not deny the fear which accompanied the relief. Could I? Could I in fact, murder myself? I contemplated this for years. To be terribly honest I still contemplate this conundrum to this very day. Something is holding me back. Whether it be my fear and cowardice or something more divine, I do not know. Perhaps, this is a good thing. Perhaps it is not. These days I can’t be certain. Until I am certain, though, I must suffer silently, periodically punishing myself for considering ending my life, as well as punishing myself for being too cowardly to go through with the plan. Maybe someday I’ll understand why the rain makes me feel more alive than life does.