anonymous letters

Dear you,

on time when i was a kid, it was evening & it rained & rained & rained.

I sat in a circle with some really choice people & we all wrote annonymous letters which weren't too, too, annonymous. And I'm pretty sure we were all full of hope, which is a good way to be.

Dear stars,

how have you been lately, do you find your orbit monotonous? does the pressure of space constantly weigh upon you? And what of your neighbors? have they visited you recently? Or are you feeling lonely out there in the cold void of your constellation?

I was walking down the street in the dead of night a few days ago suddenly I stopped in my tracks and gazed into the sky and realised how similar we were.

Lucky Stars.

Love always

Dearest you!

It's you! It's sure been a while. Have you've been enjoying yourself? I hope you've been enjoying youself. I have, the geranium plant we grew for you is still going strong. It flowers each spring with flowers as pick as the inside of your ears. I've missed your ears. Sometimes I like to sit by that plant and remember the feeling of your quick heart beat against my hand. Is the place you went as nice as here? I'd like to visit it some day. If i'm allowed.

You were such a beautiful creature. The prince of the town. Charles. Oh, Charlie.

You were a good car,

See you 'round.

x

Dear dearest deer,

I can't seem to fall asleep without crying into my pillow first - it's not really as dramatic as it sounds, it's just a habit I have formed.

This is a reminder of the strength and pain of being young! And that it can't come again, but is for others, undiminished somewhere - where no whispers are in the dark corners. "Ah! my friend, you do not know. You do not know what life is, you who hold it in your hands"

How do you attempt to understand when there are so many secrets pouring out from everywhere? All of the sudden there are goodnight kisses that weren't there before and it's all because you're scared I'll abandon you and things will begin to disintegrate. It's all to easy to want to repair things when you realise something's wrong but I'm sorry. But it's far too late for that.

Dear you,

we went to the beach today. We're on holidays, its a writers retreat weekend. But I find I don't have all that much to write about. We can into one of our old friends down there, it was a happy coincidence. There was a little boy in the tree beside the woman's change room. I think he was looking in. We ate sandwiches. We are meant to disguise our handwriting for this task.

It's raining cats and dogs outside. I enjoy the rain. I enjoy the sun. I find it very easy to be content in life. I have few wants above my basic needs and I'm pretty capable by myself. I'm more creative when I am poor, fucked up & broken hearted. Not because I have more to write about, I don't really write much about the particulars of my life. I keep those to myself. Maybe out of selfishness. Maybe I don't think they're worth sharing. It's just another life. There are six billion of those. And that's just the humans. So yeah, I'm happy with myself & I don't need to share.

I don't know. So who am I?

How are you? Who are you? What is happening in your life? Deep down, underneath the drama & the triviality, what makes you sad, and what brings you the truest pleasure? Reading? Writing? Music? Underneath those connections? Observations? The boundaries of the mind & soul? Unanswerable questions. Ask me an unanswerable question.

HERE: _________________________________?

I'll tell you the answer on day.

Now.