Saturday September 30th 2006, 2:49 am
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To my midnight madness,

There are certain objects that I come across in my daily routine which ignite flashes of emotions and memories of you. Chapstick is no longer a plain device to soothe and comfort my lips. You were obsessed with Chapstick when I first met you. You wouldn’t leave the house if you couldn’t locate a tube of Chapstick to take with you. It was this dreadful California weather which caused your lips to dry so easily. Since you grew up in the humid climate of Hawaii, the dry heat was a constant battle for your body’s moisture. Even your fair skin would tremble at the thought of being outside in the summer sun. You are a born Goth. When I met you for the first time in San Jose, you had just opened a new case of lip balm made from the essence of Hemp. I remember this particular Chapstick because at the end of our relationship, the case was completely empty. Our marriage paralleled the life span of that silly Chapstick dispenser. Your father continually invites you to go live with him in his mansion in Arizona, but you’d absolutely melt in such an arid and dry climate. Another new memory association for me is meeting animals in the street. Any dog, cat, bird, or other small creature you would come across, you’d walk towards, intrepidly, to pet and communicate with. I remember once while we were driving towards Palo Alto I asked you if you wanted to meet a cow. You weren’t hesitant at all with your response. “Absolutely,” you replied. We pulled the car to the side of the road at the first sighting of a cow farm. You told the pack of cows (more like cow-ards) that you were a vegetarian and that you had no intention in harming them, but they didn’t listen to reason. A third object that will always open the floodgates to my thoughts is a wedding ring. I cannot see another person sporting a wedding ring without immediately visualizing you, my ex-love. These visualizations come in many forms and images. Sometimes I think of your petite body architecture, sometimes I imagine you lying under the covers to our futon bed. Sometimes I think of you decked out in your work uniform (your scrubs) that also functioned as your pajamas. Sometimes I imagine your freckles and pale skin, and other times I focus only on your lips. You have wonderful lips, dear ex-wife. Hence any jealous feelings I get when I think of you kissing other men. But as you’ve reminded me on several occasions, it’s not my responsibility to care for you or your image the way I continually do. Responsibility is a hard thing to abscond from, unless you’re irresponsible. But I’ve prided myself in my responsible nature, and have a very difficult time relinquishing any responsibility I have to my own memories and emotions. I have a responsibility to allow my thoughts to flow when I see Chapstick, cows and wedding rings. Otherwise, I’d repress these interconnected fluid relationships and become a static monster of matter.

-madness making sense.

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