Grumps

Hi Pamela,

You wrote me 30 letters to read when I'm feeling low, so I wanna do the same for you. Before this, I never knew how sad you were when you told me you were feeling grumpy, but now I sort of understand how helpless you feel when I'm upset and you feel like you can't do anything to help me. Some things I do when I'm feeling low is watch movies of runway fails, watch funny commercials, or go to sixbillionsecrets.com. I'm not sure how you cope with it, but you can try them out, I'm not sure if they help. Remember to take care of yourself too, drink some water, and take a warm shower later, I know you probably don't feel like sleeping so early. Lastly, remember that I'm always here if you wanna talk about anything, and I mean anything, and I promise to take care of you. It makes me sad and restless to see my happy girl so grumpy. Here's a grumpy sleeping crocodile, I love you.

Fifth

Dear Pamela

Last night I asked you what falling in love felt like. You told me its hard to express, a strange but welcoming sort of fuzzy warm feeling. In many ways you're probably right, and its really quite funny how hard and utterly complex it is to explain something as simple as love. I've probably attempted this before, but we both know that love is an everchanging constant, and so for the love of words and for the love of you, I'll do it again.

Falling in love with you is like a scorching summer
Where the heat is overwhelming and never fails to catch you off guard
Sometimes it hides behind a cloud and the world dims noticeably around you
But just when you think its over, it emerges twice as intense

Falling in love with you is like the sweet scent of spring
Those days when you catch me staring at you and the slightest smile blooms within your lips
Its really small things like that which fills my lungs with honey when I try to breathe
Its really small things like that which still make butterflies flutter in my stomach after five months

Falling in love with you is like painting the colours of autumn
Love like a palette of reds and yellows and browns and all those in betweens that haven't been named yet
Its the warmth of woolen sweaters and the sound of crunching leaves
Watching them tumble from branches and remembering that like them, you too are free to fall in love

Falling in love with you surrounds me like snow in winter
Your hugs like warm cocoa in front of a fire yet your kisses like frostbite on my cheeks
The emotions we feel are like drifting snowflakes, each unique but intricately expressed
Yet look what happens when they blanket the world, an incredible winter wonderland

Canals, Gondolas

I'm getting sick of what life is throwing me. Its getting so predictable yet unavoidable and it just feels like someone is slapping my face over and  over again. Sometimes I feel like I don't give a shit anymore. Sometimes I remember that I do, and it sucks. If I went to travel right now, I'm pretty sure I won't even bother coming back anymore.

If This Was The Last Thing I Said

This one is for Pamela.

I don't know how to begin with this. If I were to leave, I hope you'll be okay. You're a dancer. I see it in you everywhere you go. Treading one foot after the next on the sidewalk. Skipping cracks on the pavement. You're one of those people whose dreams resonate within you and burst forth in every action you do. I will never be in a position to critique your skills, but your passion is something so special.  If I were to leave you, I hope you chase those dreams the way you chased the frothy edges of the sea at our spot at the beach. Never thoroughly pursuing, but never letting out of sight, a dance to a rhythm between only the sea and the sand between your toes.

I hope you find someone who loves you and never leaves you the way I have. I hope he never finds a reason to doubt his love for someone like you. You'll meet a boy who can't help but smile every time he sees you, someone who will hold your hands in his and study the creases like constellations. He'll tell you the meaning of the lines you've drawn on your skin, and he'll tell you about his family and his dreams, and how every wrong turn in his life eventually led to you. I hope you meet someone that your family will love, and he will take time off to get tackled by your nieces and hold hands with you in front of your father. And I hope he will call in the middle of the day to remind you that he loves you and leave random notes around to tell you how incredible you are. And even behind closed doors, he will hold you in his arms so delicately that you will allow yourself to trust him. You will find a man who's been searching everywhere for someone like you, and he's going to make you happy in a way I never can.

If I leave you, I hope you'll keep on loving the things you do. I hope you continue to make warm nutella sandwiches because they're the best things I've tasted. I hope you continue to look up at the stars, and count them, and after a while give up because they're like holes on a piece of canvas and you are but one girl trying to conquer the universe. And I hope you try, because the universe is within your reach.

I fell in love with your sincerity, your kindness, and your compassion, and I believe all these things make you who you are. If I die, I hope all these things stay alive within you and that you're able to share them with someone else whose whole world amounts to you. I hope you find happiness, and I hope you remember me by that one night I wrote a song for you and played it on the guitar and sang out of key. Embarrassing, but I suppose its who I am, an ambitious mix of overthinking and too little thinking. Its never been the case that I don't love you. Even when I cannot say it, its because those words simply don't capture the integrity of what I feel towards you. Its not just love, its intrigue, and amazement, and anger, and care, and guilt and I don't think the simplicity of love is what they all sum up to. 

But if I die, hope you never need to see my body. Remember me for a while, and then let me go as soon as you can. You are so much more and you can be happy without me. Have faith.

What You Want, What I Need

Sometimes I imagine us, squinting out fuzzy blossoms of daylight, 6.57 in the morning. You'd let out a tired sigh of content and arch your back against my stomach as I rub my thumbs in circles on either side of your navel. I press my face into the crook of your neck, the fine hairs at the bottom of your skull softly caressing my cheek. The sunlight is pouring in now, through the slits in your curtain, casting shadows on your body that I delicately trace with my fingertips. I lean in closer, lips barely brushing against your bare shoulder, breathing, warm breaths on your skin, hands gently urging you closer. My eyes close as I give in desire, pressing my lips against your neck to taste your skin.

Then there's sometimes where I imagine us in the still privacy of your bedroom, heat hanging low in the air around us. I trace your silhouette with my gaze; watching your lithe movements makes an urging need pool at the bottom of my stomach. I cross the room to you and you turn to acknowledge my presence. The look on my face must have given me away, but I'm too far gone by now. Two steps and I have you against the wall, my hips pressing against yours. My hands find their way along your spine, kneading into your body in a steady rhythm as you lean into me. I tilt your chin up gently so I can taste your lips. I want to delve into the warmth of your mouth but you begin to clutch me urgently from deep strokes of my hands on your back. I can hear you whimper softly as you dig your nails into the back of my neck. I cannot imagine what sensations you are feeling, but in a moment fueled by carnal urges, I only want to pleasure you more.

Late Fucking Late

Clubber are always late. They don't give a shit if they have something on the next day or anything, they will go late, come home late, wake up late, and be fucking late. I don't fucking care if you reach home at 6 in the morning, don't fucking tell me you can meet me when you can't. If you make that arrangement, I don't care if you have to sacrifice your fucking sleep, you bloody well better be there. Responsibilities man. You foiled my plans, you make me travel out lugging presents for you, and you're so fucking late I have to travel TO YOU and travel back. What the fuck. God knows what's the point of meeting up anymore.

Stages of Missing

You're there somewhere above me 

When I stir awake at 4.26 in the morning 

You whisper down to me from the cracks in the concrete

Beckoning me to play with the shadows on the ceiling

I see you dart across a puddle on the pavement

You pass right after I do, illuminated by blinking lights

I try to run and leave you behind 

But all these watery mirrors show not my reflection, only yours 

There was a day where I came home and you were sitting there on my bed

You drew me in and on top of you, and your flesh felt like fire against my skin

But I couldn't do it

So we fell asleep with my arms around you so tight, I couldn't feel you slip away

You stopped by when I passed out on the sidewalk, having too much to drink

You lifted my chin and stroked the greasy hair off my forehead

I started vomiting violently, my throat lining burned and swelled

You were gone, and I passed out again

One night I woke up at 4.27 and there were no noises in the ceiling

I'd been sober for the past three days and the streetlights outside were dimmed

My breathing grew labourous, I panicked, and I tore at my sheets 

But then you looked up from next to me with a puzzled look and asked me what was wrong

I held onto you for longer than I knew 

And this time, you stayed