Sunday, March 22, 2009


dec. 24, 2008


you're the guy who, three and a half years after i thought you broke my heart, i can imagine meeting in a coffee shop twenty years into the future, and, if we were both still single and searching, laughing about where it went wrong and falling in love again. i fell too in love with things you said online - too many of our conversations were via the internet, too quickly; that was one of the problems - and even though i knew it altered the presentation of things and the time you had to deliberate and place each crafty, flirtatious remark, thought you were so funny and intelligent and profound. so much of it was speculation, i thought you were interested, our mutual friends told me and told each other they noticed something different about you, you behaved like you were making up your mind (but that the odds of us dating were good). what was up with that? you were a confusing guy. when you call someone out on playing mindgames, you should do it in person (my mistake), but it seems like i accused you of not being straight with me many, many times. and you just couldn't seem to get it together. i knew i was attracted to you. i was so frustrated when we had one-on-one conversations, three of which i remember distinctly (and i now realize they were all at or within 100 feet of my house), and you wouldn't look me in the eye, and you spoke figuratively and unclearly, and i couldn't understand what you meant, and you talked about things that were plain infuriating (talking about indulgences and the crusades and the ludicrousy of the catholic church). you really pushed my self-righteous side, i thought i was so great for putting up with you.

you know what? now i'm just annoyed. two things i've learned since going to college: one, a great conversation - great conversations, plural - cannot be the sole basis for a relationship (my frequent mistake). two, if a man really wants to be with you, he will muster up the boldness to confess his feelings. by sheer necessity to prove that he has male hormones, he will say that he likes you or devise some plan to spend time with you. if not, he may be dense, he may be nervous, he may be shy; but most likely, you, the girl, are misguided.

i'm a sucker for guys with dimples. there, i said it. now you know!



it's been a while. i'm negligent, but in my heart always promised i would come back. here i am.

last year when i blogged regularly, i said i thought i could write 50 love letters. i toyed with the idea of writing them all and then posting them intermittently as filler posts when i had nothing interesting to say or time to spend making my thoughts decipherable. i finally started writing them over winter break but only managed to write two of them. they're really short.

singleness and marriage and dating and relationships have been stirring around in my head a lot lately, and i've finally reached a satisfactory view on them (for now), namely that the middle two aren't a given and shouldn't be treated as such, and that a person isn't deficient for not having experienced them or for not having them presently. i'm not in a place where i'm consoling myself or bitter towards men (men are great!), just finally able to dispel this weird value system i've had for so long where i placed so much weight on the relationship - that kind of relationship - i could have with another person (and all this never having had a significant other). it's strange, i feel kind of hollowed out or sedated, like someone dipped my neurons in glue or molasses. i swear, i used to get so worked up thinking about this. now when i think about being single, i feel a little lonely, but not because i actually believe i am alone. i am loved and appreciated and recognize this - and i love and appreciate so many people in my life. the speck of loneliness is a curiosity about the unknown and how my life would be changed if i was special to someone "in that way." it's a pang of discontent that i don't know yet how that could fit into my life if i had it, and it's me wondering what that different kind of happiness would be like. i mean, i was able to articulate long ago that your emotions should never hinge on one person, but i haven't completely ruled out the possibility of dating. sometimes i just wonder

so i'll be posting the letters by their numbers. i miss writing and being written to.
i feel like i'm sending messages in bottles or talking into an empty room - not expecting to be found or overheard, but completely open to possibility of being discovered.