To People.

Taking a break for four minutes from everything. I love the letter challenge, but not all of it. This next one I can't think of who to write to for the world. I miss people, sure, but it's not missing so much as other emotions.

So, uh, here. I'll try this:

Dear Missed One,

I miss you, yes, but not as intensely as other people maybe would. Because missing isn't a real emotion, I don't think--it's a jumble of other emotions like longing and sadness and Oh they would like this but they're not here.

So if I ever said to you that I would miss you, it's true. I would long for you when you weren't where you usually where, and I would feel sad that I wouldn't see you for a while, and I would want to tell you things but then remember that you weren't around for me to tell you anything.

I would think of you doing your thing in your corner of the world, and get back to doing mine. Because really, what else can I say? or do? You'll be gone soon, and you're already gone for a little bit, and I hardly see you even though I want to see you so badly, so I suppose I'm so used to missing people that I don't really know how to identify the emotion anymore.

That's it,

Irene.

P.S. Blogger won't let me add any pictures, so I'll just tell you that the picture I would have added was one of a girl lying in a field of white flowers, jacket drawn up to her chin, staring at the unseen sky.

Hands, Feet, Faces, Heart.

let's be free from their uppercase restraints.

some days life is too much for words. things hit you and despair overcomes you, and you can't even figure out why. during such times, some people take comfort in their cocktails, or music, or their significant other. for me, my collection of mini-pictures are my escape. that and ignoring the shift button.

i've always wanted to try this, ignoring capitalization. it's surprisingly freeing. i feel like a child, and that's a good thing today. i love summer but i hate the complete unproductivity some days have. well not complete, i suppose. i did clean my room partially and wrote another letter. i made a lot of tea today and helped my mother with the baby and with food making while she tried to make a dress for a wedding that we may or may not be going to. i did my best to forget about the one thing but it caught up with me anyway. now i am going to make more tea and drown my sorrows in bergamot and icons. good night to you all, my imaginary audience. thanks for sticking around.

To a Friend

Dear Long-Ago Friend,
There’s not much to say. Life and circumstances pulled us apart, and now we are living separate lives. I believe it was for the best, that we did our growing as we grew apart. You found your niche and are loved. I found mine and am loved as well. The few times we do see each other, we have great conversations, but neither of us has the energy to keep up a full-time friendship. This is nice, our occasional acquaintanceship.

Really, there’s not much to say.

Fond regards,
Irene.

To One Who Has Caused Me Pain and Who I am Finding Hard to Forgive

Dear Self,
I hate you at times. You’ve caused me a lot of pain, and I wish we could forgive each other—but the hurt is too deep. You let laziness overpower you. You didn’t protect your mind from wickedness. You let your hands stop doing good, and you slept as an attitude of rebelliousness crept up on your heart.

I wish I could say that you’ve grown as a result; perhaps you have, but too little, too late. It is senior year next year, and you have slacked off, lied, and rightfully failed the past seven years. Good luck, I guess, with this last year and college—you’re going to need it in massive doses.

But you must remember that you are free. You are free, and this shouldn’t have a hold on you any longer. It only has a hold on you because you let it. So—just stop. Stop it with all the deceit and whatnot, because it’s getting annoying. Exasperating.

I know that you can do so much better. You can, and you know it yourself, but you persist in the wrongdoing. It’s disheartening to say the least. But you can change. You have changed—so just hold onto that change and who made it possible.

That’s all I have to say about that.

I still like you,
Irene.