letters i never send



i must have started a hundred letters to you, never able 
to finish them, never able to put into words the things i 
need to say. the words stick to my fingers and the pen 
leaves blotches on the paper. my journal is filled with 
false starts and melancholy prose that fails to capture the 
essence of me, which is all i have to offer.

i want to tell you that the songs were all right; that life without 
you is me lost and confused, totally without direction and afraid 
to make choices and decisions because they always seem to be 
wrong. i want you to know that sometimes i cry because i hurt you 
so badly, that i can't forgive myself for that. that i didn't know. i 
really didn't know. i never had a clue, or maybe i did. i need you to
know that i don't cry with thanksgiving on the way home from work 
anymore because there's no one waiting there for me, there's nothing 
but the television and this stupid computer, both of which are inadequate 
replacements for your arms. 

i need for you to know that you were right, that there isn't anyone to 
hold me when i'm sad, and my arms are never enough. no one to make 
me laugh, no one who makes me sigh with pleasure anymore. any love 
i thought i had in my life since i've been gone has been fleeting and scarce. 
i'm alone and while sometimes that's ok, most of the time it is not ok at all. 
the pain i caused you has come back to me tenfold and bows me in the 
middle sometimes, causing me to lose my breath and my heart to skip beats. 
how can a person live with pain like that? and it's true that the hell you know 
is better than the hell you don't. and i miss you every day and every night.

i know i've colored our days together with a soft, rosy glow, made them 
better than they actually were. i know this, but i can't stop doing it. and 
i want you to know that i was wrong; that being lonely while being with 
you was much better than being lonely without you. and i'm so sorry. you 
can't ever know how sorry i am for everything. 

tonight i'll lay down and go to sleep and get up tomorrow and move through 
the hours like a ghost, just as i did yesterday and the day before that. just 
like i will, i think, for the rest of my life. and if there was any way to reach 
you, i'd reach out my hand and touch your face, feel your skin on mine again. 
lately i think a lot about when we lived in Louisiana, how young we were,
how everything was new and exciting and different. i want that again. 
but then, i always want what i don't have, don't i? 

denise

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