Dear R.P.H. (Letter 5)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.

Dear R-

I want your opinion. I want to know what you’re thinking. I want to know if you felt about me at all. I want to interact with something real after what feels like three months of fake. How much did you fake for me? You know what? This is stupid. I shouldn’t even care. It shouldn’t even matter. I can’t stop myself. I sat there and had to say to myself again and again, “you left me, you don’t want me anymore. I shouldn’t contact you.”

That parting note, “talk to me anytime.” It was conciliatory. You didn’t mean it. It was a line. Do you have someone new? Is that why you left. It feels like you never talked to me first unless you were drunk. Why did your inhibitions have to be lowered to talk to me? Did I not tell you I liked you enough? Was this because I didn’t share? I can’t really share, it’s just not in me. Please don’t let that be the reason.

Did you think I wouldn’t go with you if you found someone new and better? You left me alone! You knew how much it means to me to share anything personal. Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you’re the fool I always tried to pretend you weren’t. A high, drunk, fool, who rescued me anyway. No. I rescued myself. I just wanted a crutch, once in life. I’m whining now. To no one. I’ll never end this feeling. I hate you. I miss you. I’m lonely. I can’t stop staring at your picture. I’d bet anything you jacked off to mine.

You know, I know you did. You asked for the pictures. Did you tell me your fantasies on purpose? Was that an intimacy? Or were you bragging? Trying to impress me. Trying to put your will on me. I would’ve done it for you, you know. Just because you asked. God I’m pathetic.

I don’t have two feet to stand on. I look down and I’m surprised they’re there. I just wanted your time. This better not be that one great love I’m supposed to get. That doesn’t even make sense. I’m so weirdly superstitious.

If I wrote you now, it would be two lines – that’d be it. It’d have to be tech related too. It’d be short. I’d probably say, “hey, I’m thinking about you.” Or, “I thought about you, because.” Because I always needed a because to talk to you. I never just could. I was never strong enough. I could never just send you me. Though, you asked three times. I must’ve been so boring to you. You wouldn’t even recognize me now.

Maybe I’ll let you know if I’m back in your city in the spring. I’ll say, “let me see if we work.” You’d say, “God you’ve gotten fat.” You’d look at me like you didn’t understand. You never got me. You only liked me because I singled you out – of all the boys – I liked you.

We made together. Me and you. It made me better, did you know? I think you installed AE for me. Maybe that’s the nicest thing you ever did for me. Other than almost call me your girlfriend. The time you called me beautiful, you were lying. I know it. You know it.

Dear R.P.H. (Letter #4)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.

Dear R-

I want to talk to you so badly it hurts. I hurt. You did this. And it meant nothing to you. What would I say if I sent you a message? Love me. Please just love me. That’s what it would say. I looked it up. It was a month ago. That’s so long. I’m insane. I still shouldn’t feel this.

Lonely Lines

it just looks so sad to me. so sad.

here have something cheery to look at after that last grayscape. just kidding. here’s a woman sitting all by herself.

Dear R.P.H. (Letter #3)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.

Dear R-

Are you high, or can you talk? You know I used to come up with excuses to talk to you, but they had to be official so you wouldn’t know. I want to tell you right now – I’m crashing. I’m crashing. I can’t make it stop. I’d been doing so well. So damn well. What if I can’t stop it again? What, are you going to be there?

Dammit. I trusted you. Why am I so screwed up? It’s not fair. Why isn’t it fair? I want to be able to trust – not cling. Instead I’m just disgusting – clingy and disgusting. And I’m going to turn into my mother who doesn’t care and who’s fault it never is, if your feelings get hurt, when your feelings get hurt.

Dammit. You know what? I only ever liked one of your songs. The rest were crap. There. And you’re crap at explaining stuff. And you’d hate me if you knew me, as I do. I was myself with you, for a moment. Me. I don’t show it to anyone, not anymore. You rejected it. You got rid of me without a couple thoughts. And that hurts. It hurts so much. I don’t have anyone to be me with anymore. I’m facades all over again, you bastard. I almost got through the whole day.

You left me.  But, I want to be able to stand on my own. I don’t want to need to depend on people. It’s not fair.

Dust on Truck

i love taking photographs of trucks driving on the road. i don’t think they get enough happy recognition. as always, i can’t believe i have to say this, but, nevertheless: it should be obvious i was not driving while taking this, i don’t support photographing while operating a moving vehicle.

Dear R.P.H. (Letter #2)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letter here.

Dear R-

I only chastised myself for an hour about wanting to talk to you today. I don’t go on much anymore – I won’t for you. I thought about sending you a message that said, “I can’t hold on any longer.”

Maybe it’s better I can see the end. I think about you when I hear symphony music, did you know? Why doesn’t anyone stay? I want to stop time and stop life with a pause button, and say, “please, sit with me.” I need more time, I’m not ready. Why don’t you love me? Because it’s me. It’s always me. Who do I complain to? Who do I make things for? What did you do with all my stories? The ones I never told anyone else, what happens to them? Are you so much older you can roll them up with your blunts, and your bad carpet, and move right along? Why couldn’t you stay for me?

Why can’t I stop this – why does this feel manufactured – why can’t I be done with you – you ass. I was a blip. You think of me as a silly little thing.

Maybe if I’d gotten to see M- I would’ve been ok. Instead, I cried on my birthday again. How many more tears and breaks can me take? Not many more, I’ve grown callouses. You gave me callouses. I thought – no that’s enough – I knew it was all fake. I pushed you and manipulated. Just like how I knew to do. And you left like they all did. You hear? I you-all’d you. Consider me just another of your ginger snap tramps, you non-answering, passive aggressive, gap-toothed boy. May you live a life unfulfilled.

Koi at the Botanical Gardens

with the mottled light it almost looks like a bad impressionist painting 100 years too late.

the green on green presents a problem, but i have a soft-spot for swirling vines

check out the geometrical patterns on the fish. that’s the only reason i thought this photo worth sharing.

Dear R.P.H. (Letter #1)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent.

Dear R-

I can’t do this. I can’t be the big girl. And so I’m self-sabotaging again. I know. You’re surprised. I miss you. I miss you so much. It’s like, for a second, I had someone to talk to who was just for me, just for a second. God. What did I do to make you leave? You did what I asked though, whether on purpose or not. You gave me a warning before you left. God, I miss you.

You said I could talk to you any time. I sent you an answered message. Unanswered. Alone again, and you took some of my heart dammit.