03
Jun
11

GUEST LETTER

6/3/11 – Im putting this on the home page b/c it’s too long for the Guest Page. And because I can. Because it’s my blog.

our 5th guest letter is a bit different. it’s 100% serious. and 100% awesome. this girl had me pretty close to tears. ill say no more. she wanted to remain anonymous so without further ado (ps its long. like, really long. but worth it).

T.
I find it a bit ironic that I’m writing you of all people a letter of gratitude after, you know, everything.
I still have so much negative energy toward you that it startles me to find myself thinking of you at random and I can feel my body tensing up palpably, a defense mechanism against even simple thoughts of you.
It wasn’t all bad, was it though? I could write at you for hours if I fixated on all the yuck, but I don’t let myself do that these days. Today I’m here to thank you. That’s all.
Yes, surprise should be your natural reaction.
Remember that night we walked around, side by side, next to the water? It was three am when we began, that second weekend up at the lake, before anyone had really made friends or moved in that summer. I had just gotten off a shift working the door at the bar. My head was swimming with love for this strange new place, my own daring to go through with it, and this life and the summer and all the people and their energy.
I was buzzed, my shift ended in a couple of Starry Nights and a Red Headed Slut. I hurried home under the stars to a promising group of new characters on the front porch. The kind you laugh with and look around at with glee before you realize they’re barely disguising how much they’ll ultimately want to crush you to feel bigger, brighter, more. But not then, then it was just so. A perfect storm to start the greatest summer. It was the greatest summer, wasn’t it?
Finally, everyone retired to their own rooms and new beds, so many still- unfamiliar names and faces swirling around in their heads. But we weren’t done, then. Just us. We walked for hours that night, literally. You had to work at eight that morning and we were just approaching the restaurant as it opened at seven. We strolled in and ate breakfast together like it was the most natural thing in the world. I had to work at 10:30 am, but by then I didn’t need sleep. I was electric. Completely lit with energy, my veins felt too full to hold my body. We dined, we laughed, across from each other, hours into a conversation that flowed so beautifully that I feel physically ill even now just thinking about the ease. Still strangers, but losing mystery by the minute.  We finished eating and you went to work and I half-skipped back to my room in the dorm building, already smitten.
We never touched that night or morning, except when our arms collided briefly as we swatted our way through a cloud of gnats, somewhere amid hour three. Or maybe I shook your hand in introduction. I can’t remember if I was still in that phase.
There aren’t many nights or moments in my life that I would honestly label as perfection. They’re all scattered and rare and mostly fragments of bigger, bitter disappointments. But this night, this one was perfect.
We were perfect.
I wish we could have, would have, just stopped there, hanging frozen in time. I wish we’d never have met again. I don’t need the years of everything that went deeper and stole pieces of me and destroyed others, but I’d keep that night. Hell, I’ll keep it anyway.  I’ll hold it deep in the depths, no matter the way things turned out.
Remember that night when you told me you loved me more than you could ever love yourself? That’s the fucking saddest thing anyone has ever said to me. It was all falling apart by then, anyway. But even more than starting to hate you for saying it, I hated and still hate myself for feeling the need for you to mean it as it started to seep in. Through all my cracks and little broken parts, eventually invading the whole and knocking me off course.
You may not love yourself, but you certainly never loved me either.
That’s not what this is about. I’m writing to thank you. There’s not really much I can honestly say I’m grateful for when it comes to you, but I do treasure the way we met, that perfect night.
Thank you, for being handsome and charming and for just talking to me. Thanks for not trying to get in my pants or making me feel awkward or embarrassed so you could take advantage. I’ve seen you do that so many times to so many people, preying on insecurity. But not that night. For whatever reason, you let me feel like I was the right girl with the right mind at the right time.
You’re just so goddamn handsome, it’s disarming. It was disarming.
I hope you’ve got everything you need. I hope someday you turn your head up to the sun and realize it’s always been there, just waiting for you to realize it. I hope you’re warm at night and that some girl finds a way to disarm you, but doesn’t abuse it like you do. I hope you wrap your giant, graceful fingers around her fingers and catch them in her hair. I hope you drown in her eyes the way I felt I couldn’t catch my breath looking into yours.
I hope you stop making promises, because you’ll never understand how a broken promise from your direction can cause the edges to crumble off an entire world.
I hope you never contact me again; because you know I’ll always tell you everything is going to be all right. It’s cruel. Remember those months of page upon page we typed to each other? I waited each time for yours with baited breath, devouring every punctuation mark and pronoun with my heart. I knew you didn’t love me then, but that didn’t stop me from loving you anyway. Us, playing at friends. We were never fucking friends. Thanks for helping me realize the difference between hiding behind words for comfort and actually wanting to build a genuine friendship with someone. It was the closest you ever came to needing me though, wasn’t it? A steady fix of reassurance in your darkest moments. I hope I never need anyone like that.
More than anything though, the stupid, silly, selfish, girl in me hopes you remember that one perfect night as vividly and as reverently as I do. I hope you keep it suspended over you like a mobile, or an umbrella. A reminder of how living cosily inside the exact right place at the exact right time feels. Those moments before we learned how to hurt each other and who could make it the deepest.
You always won.
By the way, thanks also for the wreck plate that last morning. Remember? You dumped me for the last time fifteen hours later.  I thought you loved me then, that hurried-with-oversleep morning as you grabbed your phone and called in the order, just in the nick of time. You, always keeping me on my toes, in the dark, knocked on my ass.
Thanks to you I’m on a new path. A better one. Thank you.
Sara

6 Responses to “GUEST LETTER”


  1. 1 COURTINGSF
    June 3, 2011 at 9:07 am

    Didn’t cry but that was very well written. I think ever girl has felt this way at least once in her life.

  2. June 3, 2011 at 10:52 am

    dude..its not that long…;-)
    i think we all have one of those perfect nights somewhere in us… but thanks for pointing out how dear we can/should hold them…
    xoxo

  3. 3 Erin
    June 3, 2011 at 11:49 am

    I don’t believe every person has the ability to feel this way. I actually believe too many people go their entire lives without feeling something comparable to this. It takes a certain character to feel betrayed the way she feels, and not everyone has that. Hardly anyone has that. I cried a lot, but kept my eyes clear enough to catch every damn word of this letter. God Damnit. This is real and raw and insightful and honest and powerful, but mainly just powerful, in the best way. You have grown and are growing and this is one of those “beautiful sadness” kind of things, as Butters would say. It’s an amazing thing that we can feel this, it’s just a bitch to recover/learn from. The power of perspective and experience is irreplaceable. Thanks, Sara.

  4. 4 Erin
    June 3, 2011 at 1:22 pm

    Thanks Sara*

  5. June 3, 2011 at 5:09 pm

    Wow, this is so poignant, insightful and vulnerable. I’ve been there, in fact, I’m still there!Because we don’t ever really recover from this kind of thing. It changes who we are. And I agree with Erin, there is a beauty to this type of sadness. This letter is so beautifully written, and it made me think about my own perfect moments with my T….it puts a whole different perspective on the pain. Thank you.

  6. June 4, 2011 at 7:18 am

    “I could write at you for hours.” Ughh… heart exploding. This is total greatness. Wow.


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