Friday, March 30, 2018

Undead Letter Office

I sit on the floor, surrounded by letters scattered all around me: letters from my friend Muse who moved when we were in fifth grade, letters from a girl in Phoenix whom I don't remember meeting but who nevertheless sent me passionate poems and quotes from Cure songs, letters from ex-girlfriends and women who were never more than friends, a pen-pal from Australia, notes passed in class, letters from people with whom I keep in touch and from people who will never willingly speak to me again.

"And I started to wonder, like I do," I say later to Katie as we're relaxing on the couch, "where it all went wrong, like did I peak back then and didn't even know it, with all the friends that I shared all these dreams with?"

"Then I realized that, even then, I was miserable, and thought my best years were behind me, and the problem is I've always looked backward, and never believed in myself," I continue, and she smiles.
One year ago: Truth Bomb
Two years ago: Spider Senses Tingling

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