Saturday August 05th 2006, 2:00 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters


Today you asked me, in response to my email, a simple question, ďHow are you?Ē I replied, ďHonestly, not well.Ē But that was as far as I could articulate my distress. I wanted to write, ďIím depressed, lonely, upset at the world, self-loathing, insecure, ready to dieĒ. I wanted to write, ďI miss you. Iíd love to talk to youĒ. I wanted you to call me, to tell me you missed me as well. But these are mere desires, a product of your seduction, of my wanting to be seduced by you. I wonder what youíre stressed out about. I wonder who you are today, who you ever were at all. I understand you no longer have feelings for me, but I still miss hearing about your feelings. I miss sleeping next to you. I miss trying to make you laugh. In the end of our marriage, I could never make you laugh. I donít think I ever will be able to do that again. I feel powerless, stripped of any way to reach out to you. Iím sitting in my room right now, staring at these words that are somehow being written on this page, but all I can think about is you. I project your image on top of these words. I donít just think about your laugh, I hear it in the back of my head. I really do hope youíve found someone else to make you laugh. Maybe itís this looming sadness hanging over my head? I donít know what to do about this. Maybe thereís nothing I can do. I feel so hopeless. The world is stuck, concrete in its image. The visible bores me and the invisible alludes me. But these are things I cannot articulate to you in the present moment. You roll your eyes anytime I speak about my emotions, and that is why we cannot be friends. You are mean to my sadness. You kick me when Iím down. Please, donít ask how Iím doing. Itís not fair.


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