Dear Arty

How are you? How have you been this whole time? I’m driven to write this letter because I want an assurance that you still believe that I believe in you. I’m out on break from the hospital, still can’t seem to find balance in the hormones that once made me want to strangle you. Yeah, I said it, gruesome, isn’t it? But it’s the truth and the truth is the only thing we can never escape. Fast forward 4 years and it makes my bone shiver, knowing that I was foolish enough to bite a seed that would blossom into a sunflower.

How many sunflowers do you see today? I have a feeling that you’ve tried to grow a few. I know, it’s normal. People tell me that women are able to forget things a lot easier, but sometimes I think otherwise. I get hasty talking about gender/sex issues as I know that you’ve grown into a leader, or as I should say, role model, or example of a independent woman who’s looking for her place in the world.

I wrote a few lines of poetry today, here it goes: Beautiful dreams that have no picture, laying on a bed drawn out of nightmares. It gets worse: There’s an ache, not in my chilled bones, but one in my hollow chest. The world is moving, I know. There is no fear that I will be left. Time to get worse: A month is not a while, because 4 years can have no depth. The ending: Things change, people do as well. But stories are always the same. Viola!

But honestly, I don’t think I’ll get so far by writing these overly emotional poems, stories, etc. I do understand that it’s a way for me to express some feelings that can’t be expressed, but our relationship shouldn’t be one that is so depressing.

How I imagine the comeback. Hey, what’s up. Not much. You? I’m fine, but I’m kind of missing something. What is it? You. Ha-ha, fuck you. I liked your story that you wrote, blah-blah blah. Simple. Two human beings talking after not talking for a few years. These years that have passed, have woven this understanding that outshines any other relationship that I’ve had with another human being. Imagine, a slug, crawling out into the sun. Then imagine the sun moving at the same speed of the slug, just to keep it warm. That’s how I imagine you and that’s how I’d like to imagine what I’ve been doing for the past few years.

I’ve never gotten into a relationship. Honestly, Shit. It sucks. The first week is fine, hey, Nice lady. Smart. Deep. Then boom, too emotional. Emotion drives the Arty train and then finally, last stop- Arty land. My brother told me about his dream where he met you and I, and that I had a baby from another woman. It scares me that something like that could happen, so I stay far away from baby bloomers. Damn, I’m talking about some random shit.

Anyways, Arty. I just want to let you know, I’m fine. I don’t feel the pain that I felt before, but my mind is struggling to hold on to my dream that I have of you. Maybe we need a few more years away, but maybe we’d regret it later. We’re still very very young, you know. I know we’ve both gone through some rough patches in life, but in a few years, we’ll both be fine. Independent, thoughtful, Freedom, Fresh-Air, Travel, Stability, etc. So many great words to describe the near-future.

I just want you to know, that I’m still thinking about you. Also, I’m not an idiot. I’m not the guy to hold on to, or horde some trash that ruins me. You make me a better person. You give me a reason to hold on. Tightly. To a dream, a purpose, or a fate that is bigger than you and I. Lastly.

I love you Arty. I always will.

Do you love me?

-tom