An ugly green wall color in the background, a vibrant sitara houseplant, and a cream colored stock paper. Handwritten and neat, the words were fumbled. She laid it out before her, rereading it once again, she couldn't tell how to proceed. If she were to mail this letter, it could change so much. The words were spoken truly from a sad and broken place. Where she felt lonely and lost with unrequited love that split her in agony. She laid out another paper and began again. Then she repeated. Again and again, she attempted to get the wording right. To use her fingers, the pencil even, as the catalyst of her romantic desires. That wasn't what came out onto the paper. It was all heartache. It was words left unspoken, much as they usually were. She tore it in half. She crumpled the next one. She said his name out loud and saw his face. Suddenly alive, she propped up on her elbow, tv paused on a telenovela, the face she just saw in her dream was on her phone. Calling. What the faaaaack? She was surprised, happy, sad, confused, and laughed. Then she answered. He always heard what she didn't say. She admitted that she had just woken up. That appeased him enough to leave the rest out. The dream. The letter. The feelings. She slipped on her flowered sneakers, grabbed three cards, one for each of her best friends, then set out for a walk. Abruptly, he had to go.
Her heart always would beat when he called; it awakened. Knowing he was okay and wanted to hear her voice was enough to keep her going. When the time would end, she would linger, knowing it would mean her heart would freeze up again. It would be slower to move, to be joyful, to feel vibrant. Over the last year, it had gone through a deep freeze and then began to thaw once more. It would never beat quite the same as it had in the past, or so it had seemed. Until she began to feel a seed of warmth here and there. The habits that had been started last year began to bud and she also felt her love come back. It took many people and lots of plants, but it started beating on it's own. She still felt the halt when he needed to go. It was like a train stopping too soon. It always felt unfinished. She didn't feel it with anyone else. Not like that. She liked her time alone and her time with people. Other people she felt love with and warmth was returned. But, with him, it was a pause. Her heart would be interrupted. It felt like being punched in the gut. She was used to it at this point and took a deep breath to soothe herself from the feeling of choking on air. The transition would happen so easily that it was barely noticeable anymore. Her dreamy, dumb state would carry her down the sidewalk and her mind in the clouds. Her feet were moving and she didn't know where she was headed. She looked down, avoiding stranger's eyes. She read a sign about brunch and her mind played out a scenario where he came to stay with her once more and they walked there and had breakfast. She would wear a cute sundress and freshen up with mascara and deodorant. He would wear what he always wore and wouldn't bother telling her what other people would. That she was beautiful, even after a night without sleep, smelling like sex, and too much tequila. She thought about the night she went out of her way for weeks planning. She knew the dress she would wear, the make-up, how she would do her hair, and what she would wear underneath it all as well. He said, you look cute. After dinner, she felt sexy but also silly. She said to the mirror in his bathroom, you got this! You look hot! Courage, dear heart. She laughed and frowned at the floor but smiled at her reflection. She glided out, remembering halfway to his couch, she was still wearing high heels and she suddenly got shy. She sat down quickly, and over his jaw dropping and him saying, wow, she managed to put her foot in her mouth and say, I'm really nervous. She was unsure if he heard her because he said, what? Her bubble popped and she was crossing the street towards the post office. There was a mailbox only a few blocks from her house and she chose to take a long walk, hoping he would do the same.
She stared at the four slots, reading them several times. Which one? She shrugged and slipped the three cards into the slot. One was an envelope she had been saving for years. When she got it she knew she would send it to her best friend one day. It just felt like her. It was whimsical, fantastical, and it had fall leaves all over it. Just the color scheme for her. Butterflies for rebirth. Earth tones for her grounded nature, the envelope was just right. The card was simple, but it said what she meant. The next one was bright yellow. Something that was from years past. A card and envelope that didn't really go together. She had picked them out separately and knew it was a set. It still didn't make sense why it was a set to anyone else, maybe, but to her, it was just how it worked. It was a pattern that was now out of style. Dated, but still got a point across. She meant to write something sweet and meaningful. To not cross a boundary she made it funny instead. She took her time on it, making sure it looked authentic. She laughed and her heart was warm when she sealed it up with the tip of her tongue. The last one. The last one was just regular handwriting. She spent time on hand lettering before and it wasn't that she didn't want to spend more time on it. It's that she needed it to be freehand. It just felt more authentic paired with her words. She spilled her heart onto the pumpkin skin colored paper. Halfway through she let out a few tears and read what she wrote. Sighing, she ripped it into pieces and crumpled it into a ball. On a nice blue paper, she began again. This time, she was careful to pull out the parts of her heart that were waiting in love rather than pain. She thought about adding another sticker from her collection, maybe one he didn't remember she had again. On second thought, she thought about her words and how that had more meaning than anything else. He could always hear between her words and wondered how he read between her lines. She was careful to choose the right words. In prose verbally or on paper. She was careful with him. It taught her so very much about how she should be more careful. He barely said much and the things that had meaning were lost on some people. They hit her like daggers. She felt them all. Even when they weren't spoken.
The letters slipped out of her hand and hit with a thud. Sudden regret hit her and she panicked. What did she write? Did she throw out the orange letter? The one that would hurt anyone who read it? Did the blue one read the way the orange one did? Consistent in her mail, she wondered if she should have waited a week since last week she sent a postcard and a birthday card. Maybe he was getting sick of finding her notes. She took a deep breath holding onto her heart with her right hand. It didn't matter. It was done. She never mentioned writing letters directly to him unless it was pertaining to her daily life, like when she sent a card for her father's birthday or a note to her best friend reminding her she is loved. Those felt necessary to mention.
Her chest burned and her shoe rubbed a blister while she walked back home. Her ass felt out of place. She wanted to shake her hips like she used to, walk the way her body felt comfortable. She wasn't quite there yet. People smiled at her and she smiled back knowing it was fake and she felt scared inside. Their reaction was a wake up call. She wasn't fooling anyone. She was forcing it and wasn't good at pretending. But, forcing it, made it easier to be real, eventually. She was reminded of the things that mattered. Empathy hadn't lived there for her for a long time. So she talked to her heart instead. Reaching up, she plucked a flower from a basket. She picked a few. She took them home and reminded herself that she too will blossom and bloom. In time.
Her heart always would beat when he called; it awakened. Knowing he was okay and wanted to hear her voice was enough to keep her going. When the time would end, she would linger, knowing it would mean her heart would freeze up again. It would be slower to move, to be joyful, to feel vibrant. Over the last year, it had gone through a deep freeze and then began to thaw once more. It would never beat quite the same as it had in the past, or so it had seemed. Until she began to feel a seed of warmth here and there. The habits that had been started last year began to bud and she also felt her love come back. It took many people and lots of plants, but it started beating on it's own. She still felt the halt when he needed to go. It was like a train stopping too soon. It always felt unfinished. She didn't feel it with anyone else. Not like that. She liked her time alone and her time with people. Other people she felt love with and warmth was returned. But, with him, it was a pause. Her heart would be interrupted. It felt like being punched in the gut. She was used to it at this point and took a deep breath to soothe herself from the feeling of choking on air. The transition would happen so easily that it was barely noticeable anymore. Her dreamy, dumb state would carry her down the sidewalk and her mind in the clouds. Her feet were moving and she didn't know where she was headed. She looked down, avoiding stranger's eyes. She read a sign about brunch and her mind played out a scenario where he came to stay with her once more and they walked there and had breakfast. She would wear a cute sundress and freshen up with mascara and deodorant. He would wear what he always wore and wouldn't bother telling her what other people would. That she was beautiful, even after a night without sleep, smelling like sex, and too much tequila. She thought about the night she went out of her way for weeks planning. She knew the dress she would wear, the make-up, how she would do her hair, and what she would wear underneath it all as well. He said, you look cute. After dinner, she felt sexy but also silly. She said to the mirror in his bathroom, you got this! You look hot! Courage, dear heart. She laughed and frowned at the floor but smiled at her reflection. She glided out, remembering halfway to his couch, she was still wearing high heels and she suddenly got shy. She sat down quickly, and over his jaw dropping and him saying, wow, she managed to put her foot in her mouth and say, I'm really nervous. She was unsure if he heard her because he said, what? Her bubble popped and she was crossing the street towards the post office. There was a mailbox only a few blocks from her house and she chose to take a long walk, hoping he would do the same.
She stared at the four slots, reading them several times. Which one? She shrugged and slipped the three cards into the slot. One was an envelope she had been saving for years. When she got it she knew she would send it to her best friend one day. It just felt like her. It was whimsical, fantastical, and it had fall leaves all over it. Just the color scheme for her. Butterflies for rebirth. Earth tones for her grounded nature, the envelope was just right. The card was simple, but it said what she meant. The next one was bright yellow. Something that was from years past. A card and envelope that didn't really go together. She had picked them out separately and knew it was a set. It still didn't make sense why it was a set to anyone else, maybe, but to her, it was just how it worked. It was a pattern that was now out of style. Dated, but still got a point across. She meant to write something sweet and meaningful. To not cross a boundary she made it funny instead. She took her time on it, making sure it looked authentic. She laughed and her heart was warm when she sealed it up with the tip of her tongue. The last one. The last one was just regular handwriting. She spent time on hand lettering before and it wasn't that she didn't want to spend more time on it. It's that she needed it to be freehand. It just felt more authentic paired with her words. She spilled her heart onto the pumpkin skin colored paper. Halfway through she let out a few tears and read what she wrote. Sighing, she ripped it into pieces and crumpled it into a ball. On a nice blue paper, she began again. This time, she was careful to pull out the parts of her heart that were waiting in love rather than pain. She thought about adding another sticker from her collection, maybe one he didn't remember she had again. On second thought, she thought about her words and how that had more meaning than anything else. He could always hear between her words and wondered how he read between her lines. She was careful to choose the right words. In prose verbally or on paper. She was careful with him. It taught her so very much about how she should be more careful. He barely said much and the things that had meaning were lost on some people. They hit her like daggers. She felt them all. Even when they weren't spoken.
The letters slipped out of her hand and hit with a thud. Sudden regret hit her and she panicked. What did she write? Did she throw out the orange letter? The one that would hurt anyone who read it? Did the blue one read the way the orange one did? Consistent in her mail, she wondered if she should have waited a week since last week she sent a postcard and a birthday card. Maybe he was getting sick of finding her notes. She took a deep breath holding onto her heart with her right hand. It didn't matter. It was done. She never mentioned writing letters directly to him unless it was pertaining to her daily life, like when she sent a card for her father's birthday or a note to her best friend reminding her she is loved. Those felt necessary to mention.
Her chest burned and her shoe rubbed a blister while she walked back home. Her ass felt out of place. She wanted to shake her hips like she used to, walk the way her body felt comfortable. She wasn't quite there yet. People smiled at her and she smiled back knowing it was fake and she felt scared inside. Their reaction was a wake up call. She wasn't fooling anyone. She was forcing it and wasn't good at pretending. But, forcing it, made it easier to be real, eventually. She was reminded of the things that mattered. Empathy hadn't lived there for her for a long time. So she talked to her heart instead. Reaching up, she plucked a flower from a basket. She picked a few. She took them home and reminded herself that she too will blossom and bloom. In time.
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