Sober

We were roommates. You are my favorite person to snuggle with in the entire world. I loved coming home from work at 2am and you’d be on the couch watching infomercials or PBS and I’d just curl up next to you on the couch for a good snuggle. Perfection.

There has never been anything between us.

You came to town and needed a place to stay. Naturally you could just sleep in my bed. I had work in the morning, you went out. I gave you the keys. You came home at 4am.

You took off all your clothes, wet with rain from the bike ride home, and left them outside my door. You got in my bed saying you were fucked up on coke & super drunk. You half slept and half chatted with me until you sleepily started making out with me.

I know you didn’t want to cheat, so I wanted to protect you from yourself. I know we would never date.

But the thing is, I would totally make out with you. Why not? It wouldn’t ruin anything and we wouldn’t fall for each other.

I couldn’t let you decide that drunk, so I told you I had to go to work and you fell asleep.

I really wonder if you remember. We will never discuss it. I hope you don’t feel rejected, because in that sense, I would never reject you. I would do you dead sober.

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Pull

Dear J.

We met when I was in the seventh grade, and you were an eighth-grader. That was twenty years ago. There was always something between us; we were intense, you a Pisces, me a Scorpio. Ain’t it the truth. We talked, we laughed, we flirted, and I was scared. I didn’t know what to do with my body there in its wheelchair, didn’t know how to feel or be pretty in your eyes. But you were a kind high school boy, and said truly meaningful things like, “I really like when you wear that sweater, it makes your boobs look really good.” I am pretty sure we loved each other, in the sweetest, most longing kind of way. Time went by; we went on one date, to the movies to see Claire and Leo kill themselves for love, and you held my hand for the first time on the way home. It took another whole year for our first kiss, even after everything. I have never felt more special.

More time went by, we decided we were not for each other, met, dated, and screwed other people. But it was always there, that chance we had never taken, the secret refuge and promise of nostalgia. You always said you wanted to be married and a dad by the time you were 26, and you were. You are a great dad, even though you and his mom got divorced. Through it all we would touch base sometimes. We always knew the other one was out there, something good, something sweet, somehow ours. You used to call me long distance from overseas when you were in the service and you hated it.

More years went by, and I would hear about you, or see you on Facebook, and there was still that old pull. I asked you, out of the blue, to go out of town with me, and you wanted to, but had just started a new job, and couldn’t get away. But you wanted to, you said so, and I believed you.

You got a new phone this summer and texted me from your new number. We had maybe not really talked in ten years or so. You finally admitted that you had unresolved feelings for me, how much you wished we had taken bigger steps in our relationship, and how you thought of me so much. You said if we had gone out of town you would have taken your chance to make love,with me, and love and love and love with me. I asked you if you realized you are the person that other than my family has been in my personal interior life the longest, and wasn’t it great to know we still had each other in some way? You said you did, and yes, it was, and like me, you were glad and thankful.

We made plans to see each other shortly after that, when you were going to be in ____, an hour away, for a week-long work conference. We were going to meet here, at my house, alone and finally adults, on a Friday night. I cleaned the house from top to bottom and put on makeup. And all that day, you did not answer my calls or my texts. You did not come. You did not call or text, or make any contact with me. No excuses, no stories, nothing. I was sure it was because something happened with your son, or to you. You would never do that to me. Not the boy I knew, with those beautiful deep brown eyes. The one I had known for so long, and who maybe loved previous teenage me. I preferred to imagine you in some emergency, and was prepared to give you enough time to get in touch.

Weeks went by. No word. Casually, I saw a comment you posted on someone’s FB. With a sense of disbelief, I clicked on your name, because it meant that clearly you were right there where you had always been, and not forgivably run off the road, in a ditch and then in traction. And I saw your status, saying how happy and in love you were, and I saw your new girlfriend.

I just don’t understand. Did you decide it wasn’t worth it, that the chemistry was not enough, that out twenty-year history was not worth a returned phone call, or a straight answer? I will never know for sure, because I will never ask you, and because it doesn’t really matter. You aren’t who I thought you were. You are not the man you say you strive to be.

You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, but I’m not really angry anymore. I’m not hurt that you treated me the way you did this summer. I am very hurt, though (and you deserve to know and hear this) that you did not respect me or everything that had been between us. I am sad that I feel now that I never really knew you at all, and that when I look back on all those sweet, fond, innocent, exciting, charged, tender, funny, laughing, sexy, patient, stolen moments, they are tarnished now, and kind of empty. You have stolen away the brightness and warmth that you yourself gave me, and that I had made a part of myself for so long.

Goodbye. You made this choice. I don’t need to know why. But I hope you stay gone. I won’t try to find you.

A.

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in a second*

i don’t know if it’s better to keep it to myself or say it out loud, but i feel like we’ve already crossed this line in a million tiny ways that what the fuck.

i know you obviously have a bazillion and ten things going on and certainly don’t need extra confusion, but i just feel like it’s only fair that i am totally clear that i would make out with you in a second. not just like when we talked about it before and i acted all casual about it, like, yeah, i would do that again if you are up for it. but more like, i just want to. of course being friends with you is far more important than making out and i value your friendship so fucking much it’s ridiculous. so i don’t want to jeopardize that and i feel confident enough in our friendship that i don’t think this email will, regardless of how you take it. and please know me well enough to know that it also doesn’t matter and won’t impact me or us if you just say um, no. or if you disregard this entirely.

so that’s quite enough embarrassment for one email.

don’t ignore me at school tomorrow.

*editors note: this does not qualify as an “unsent letter.” sent it word for fucking word. i’m just a glutton for public self-shaming, apparently.

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give you me

Dear D,
For years we were friends, your girlfriends did not like me and I felt the same about them. It was me you snuck over to talk to late at night,and all we ever did was talk- but I knew that even if you had been w/ one of them, it was me you chose to be with before you went home to sleep. then we had our chance together- but I had just been burned and I thought you were just having a summer fling. Although we had dates and time together that was comfortable and fun, our one night together (which is not something I do or did even in my youth) I did because for me it was true making love. I let myself go and chose to give you me, even if you did not feel the same depth of feelings that I did.

Then, just as I was packed and ready to head back to college, you stopped over with the most beautiful roses, and told me that you cared for me- more than a fling. I was shocked and scared- and I disappeared. Flash forward 25 years, and a simple, hey, do you remember me email thru classmates.com (which I only put my profile on looking for you), and here we are almost a year later. You are married, and as you told me in our first few exchanges, you think she is the one. At the time I read that, I was happy for you, after all we were friends just catching up and our friendship seemed so easly to fall back into.

Today where am I? I find that I can’t wait to see your emails in my inbox, we have shared that we both have alternated looking for each other for the past 15 years or more, and once you let me know you had feelings for me now, I am lost. As a friend, I should support your marriage and I should be happy for you. As someone who is struggling w/ her feelings toward you- I am finding it painful. I wish we could just see each other, spend a little time together, to see if what appears to be happening is real- or is it the safety of memories and distance that has moved our email communications in the direction they seem to be taking recently.

Maybe once you see me in person, not just picture, you will change your mind, and we can discuss this mess, laugh about it and move forward in our lives and continue the friendship w/o these complications. You say you have never even considered this before, and that is a part of the person that I am falling for- so why would I want to change that part of you? I should not want you to change that very important-and rare- part of who you are.

D, I am struggling with this falling sensation, I am feeling guilty to the innocent people who don’t know they are involved in this mess. I am sorry for sending that first email, the consequences of that decision have far exceeded anything I expected. What I’d give for some peace of mind now-

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You and me.

You and me. We’re like a hot, bright firework.

It doesn’t matter that the hot part is over, and was over more than 10 years ago now. The hot part where we just shot into the sky and fucking exploded and fell in love way too quick and both got really scared about how intense it was. How we were saying it to each other wide-eyed and incredulous, writing it to each other on paper making it real. We would get in your bed and stay up literally all night making out. We couldn’t stop. We’d fall asleep for a couple hours with our faces pressed together and our hearts and eyelids fluttering and our tattoos smushing together into new designs and our breathing in rhythm all too-perfect-like. I’ve kissed a lot of boys and I still remember your kisses. If they hadn’t been so vivid and volcanic and all over me and impossible the next part might not have happened.

That’s the part where the firework is still happening but it’s losing its heat. It’s still sparkling and shimmering and still there…but the real explosion is over. All the little stars are moving away from each other but the idea of what was there still exists, filling out the shape. That’s the part that happened after you smashed my heart. You got more scared than me. You moved thousands of miles away. But then you came back. And you kept coming back into my life for years. We kept going through the motions as much as other relationships and life would allow. Sometimes we’d see each other every day. Our bands played shows together. For a while we were even neighbors. I never stopped wanting to kiss your face. Every single second we spent together getting coffee, watching movies, lounging around outside, talking about stupid shit like robots and our bands and our lives and relationships and how we wanted everything and nothing and were never satisfied…I could barely look at your neutron star eyes that I kept falling into for years. We both knew it and didn’t know it. You apologized for everything from forever ago. Said you were wrong, scared. Our hearts were both bloody on our sleeves but we didn’t want to ruin each other’s lives…though we came so close so many times…every time you threw pebbles at my window or put your head in my lap when we were sitting on a bench or showed up drenched in a rain storm at my door. Every time we hugged so tight and so long when we parted, your face buried in my long hair, your eyelashes flicking my cheek. I think you held me like that to keep our lips as far apart as they could reasonably be in an embrace. My heart would pound so hard I thought it might knock you over. We shimmered and sparkled around and outside ourselves.

I got married. And that’s the part where we turned to ash. You told me once you thought we’d have ended up together for good if I’d never met my husband and I still agree. We’re grown up now. The universe still keeps cleverly throwing our daily orbits together, over and over again. But it’s cool now. I run into you often. I don’t have a heart attack anymore. I’m just happy I still get to see your face while the ash whirls and falls around us and quietly settles on our cheeks and eyelashes, in our hair, on our hands, on the ground.

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Make out first, talk later.

I met you on the street with my roommate. You were happy and chatting with everyone.

You had a youthful innocence. You reminded me of me about 7 years ago.
You said “Happy Friday to you” and smiled and I looked at you like I was actually looking at you.

You had a good flannel shirt and I had a good feeling about you. I think you had kind of bad hair, and I already can’t remember what you look like.

I have good intuition, though.

I left a note for you at your band’s practice space.

You thought I was gay.

We texted over the next 4 days or so. Is that what the kids do now? Text to get to know someone? I told you we should hang out and you told me you liked another lady.

If only you knew how much that didn’t matter to me.

Via all this virtual banter it turns out you like seafood and have a dog. I can have those things be dealbreakers, right?

Despite the fact that you think I’m maybe a little slutty and I think you are easily heartbroken, I think we’d actually get along.

Lessons learned:
1. It’s super easy to pick people up. All you have to do is something.
2. Make out first, talk later.

I accidentally found out how easy it is to stalk someone on facebook. Your cover photo was of your dog and your profile picture was of you eating a lobster.

Alas.

All of this hilarity, I think we should probably be friends. Promise I won’t try to make out with your face.

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Toes Curl

When I was tiny I watched movies that were somehow deemed “appropriate” but still often confused me with their adult subtexts.

One of my favorites was Footloose, of course. And when Sarah Jessica Parker tells Ariel “He’s from out of town and don’t tell me that doesn’t curl your toes because I know it does,” I really actually had no idea.

Maybe smarter kids knew what “curl your toes” meant – but I didn’t until I was old enough to engage in toe curling activities.

But even knowing, I feel like you redefine it. You actually literally make my toes curl. I can’t quite handle all of the things you make me feel.

I know the circumstances heighten the feelings, but my whole body goes to another place when you touch me.

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