Thursday, December 9, 2010

To my reader

Oh, you know, I could write a thousand "do you remember?s" I've tried, but I don't really have anything profound to say about those memories. They are good, they are bad, they are raw still, they are. There's a lot of music and food and one-hand-on-the-steering-wheel-Taylor-Swift-shit and a certain way the light hits us through the window and skin and tears and it all ends in this messiness. How is my story different, but better yet, how is it the same as yours? How can I make you all feel (again) what I felt at the time? What I feel now? You've felt this. You have your own stories about discovery and that ache and well, love. There's a power and also a solidarity in writing to make you feel that again, though.

So what I mean to say is that they aren't profound or unique, none of this is, but if they were, then you wouldn't feel them with me. And that's the whole point.

I have this urge to somehow extricate myself from all of these complicated relationships. Everything seems to have gotten fucked up over these last four years. There was relative simplicity at one time, right? Is that just a story I've made up? Has everything always been this fucked up and complicated? How did this happen?

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