A Letter I Wrote To You
But One I Will Not Send
I’ve been thinking of coloring my hair lately. Then I realize the last time you ran your fingers through my hair, they were shorter. Much shorter. I even had bangs. I wonder if you would like my hair the way it is now. Because before I cut my hair, it was long. Really long. I would tie it up in a messy bun every night, and you would somehow always end up pulling a handful of my hair in your slumber. “You are really proud of the fact that you don’t brush your hair,” you once observed out loud. I wonder if you remember that.
I wear new perfume these days. You’ve never smelled it. When I bought it, it reminded me of you. “It smells like you,” I said, describing it to you. I wonder if you would like it because I remember how much you liked the old one on me.
I am still in my glitter phase. When I first admitted it you said you really want to see what it’s like in real. Do you still think about that? Because I do. I wanted to tell you all about the impulse purchases I’ve made in regards to my clothes. I have so many more skirts now. Exactly the kind you wanted to see me in. I wish you were here to twirl me around in my fancy skirts. I wish you were here to simply twirl me around from one end of the room to the other because I don’t think we danced enough.
Would any of those things interest you still?
I came across a picture I took of you with a cigarette in your mouth. I always think of how much I told you I disliked your smoking, when in reality I thought you and James Dean are the only two people who can make smoking look cool. I wish I told you that. I have taken up smoking and drinking coffee as a way to feel you close to me still. The small things, the details, the finer points of our days and hours, we pay little to no attention to them when we have them. We take them for granted when they’re ours. But they’re the weight on our feet that we drag around when they’re gone.
I learned two new words the other day: dichoso and horripilation. I thought of you. I wanted to give them to you. I laughed out loud thinking about our abuelita argument. I smiled to myself thinking you knew those words already. You do have a degree in Comparative Literature, after all. Did I tell you I always loved how obnoxiously fancy words always danced at the tip of your tongue? Even though it baffled me often, I enjoyed that about you.
Allison once told me that we all need someone to share the finer points of our days with. Someone who feels like the act of remembering. Someone who just “gets it”. Someone who gets us, and who we are as people. Even the small stuff like hairstyles and perfume. And the big things like the death of a loved one or seeing your mother cry. Small and big things. Light and heavy things. If you’re lucky— this someone listens, very carefully, because your words — light or heavy — really do matter to them and their life.
When I called you from the chaos you said you were wearing a white t-shirt, and that I would be amused if I saw you in it. I said “I bet you look like a dream”. You mumbled something in response to that and I sighed because I could not imagine you in white. You only wore all black when I was around, no?
It has been 208 days since I last saw you in person. It has been 87 days since that conversation on Skype. Yet, ironically, I can still see you in the one picture I carry of us no matter where in this crazy world I wind up. The one of us against city lights. Did you know I have it framed now? I also remember the picture I took of you the first week I stayed with you. The one with my legs in your lap. I remember The Simpsons was on and you were really into it. I remember wanting to capture that moment forever, and so I did. I remember thinking ‘if this is what the rest of my life looks like, I will have no complaints at all’. I also have other pictures I took of you over the time we were together, on my phone. I cannot bring myself to look at them because things have changed since the pictures were taken. And also because you have since then let go of me. Twice. While I am still here, waiting for you to make your way home. That hurts my heart a little extra, so I try not to do it too often.
How about you?
