Dear Maddie,
I wish I could explain this better. I’m sure you could explain it, you were always so awfully good with words.
I just love you. I don’t know what else to call it.
It’s different than it was, not so desperate, not so urgent. It’s settled.
Life is very good and very difficult and really not that difficult at all, as life tends to be. I want to tell you all about it. I want to tell you about my dog, Kefi. I think you would not like him very much and pretend otherwise, but then like him a great deal and not have to pretend. I want to tell you about Kim, and my fish tank (I have a fish tank), and Moose, and how Bear got outside and I was heartbroken but then she came back and I ran outside to scoop her up and completely ruined a brand new pair of socks. I want to tell you about my horrible stupid awful thesis and the constant battle I have with this horrible stupid awful fear that lives inside my head. I want to tell you about BeBop (he’s a rabbit) and camping in hammocks and this book I started listening to when I go walking with Kefi. It’s an excellent book. I want to tell you about my sister and video games and the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had. And I want to know about everything that’s going on with you, even though I think it might be hard for me to keep from interrupting.
I don’t understand how I could still love you so very, very much. I don’t understand how I could love so much and still have that space that’s always been just for you.
I don’t think Kim would like it - I think she’d be hurt - but only because I can’t explain it correctly. She needn’t worry.
I miss you. I miss you like you were a sixth sense I’d grown accustomed to and now, in your absence, the world is less clear, more difficult to interpret.
Sometimes I wonder if we met now instead of then, would I still love you. Have I always loved you, am I meant to love you, or was it just a perfect storm of circumstance that carved in me such a perfect place for you?
I don’t know. I just miss you. I love you and I miss you and I wish we could go have coffee somewhere so I could sit across from you and listen to you talk about the things you want to talk about and be sure that you’re alright.
I do hope you are well.
Always,
M
I just love you. I don’t know what else to call it.
It’s different than it was, not so desperate, not so urgent. It’s settled.
Life is very good and very difficult and really not that difficult at all, as life tends to be. I want to tell you all about it. I want to tell you about my dog, Kefi. I think you would not like him very much and pretend otherwise, but then like him a great deal and not have to pretend. I want to tell you about Kim, and my fish tank (I have a fish tank), and Moose, and how Bear got outside and I was heartbroken but then she came back and I ran outside to scoop her up and completely ruined a brand new pair of socks. I want to tell you about my horrible stupid awful thesis and the constant battle I have with this horrible stupid awful fear that lives inside my head. I want to tell you about BeBop (he’s a rabbit) and camping in hammocks and this book I started listening to when I go walking with Kefi. It’s an excellent book. I want to tell you about my sister and video games and the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had. And I want to know about everything that’s going on with you, even though I think it might be hard for me to keep from interrupting.
I don’t understand how I could still love you so very, very much. I don’t understand how I could love so much and still have that space that’s always been just for you.
I don’t think Kim would like it - I think she’d be hurt - but only because I can’t explain it correctly. She needn’t worry.
I miss you. I miss you like you were a sixth sense I’d grown accustomed to and now, in your absence, the world is less clear, more difficult to interpret.
Sometimes I wonder if we met now instead of then, would I still love you. Have I always loved you, am I meant to love you, or was it just a perfect storm of circumstance that carved in me such a perfect place for you?
I don’t know. I just miss you. I love you and I miss you and I wish we could go have coffee somewhere so I could sit across from you and listen to you talk about the things you want to talk about and be sure that you’re alright.
I do hope you are well.
Always,
M