Ian,
I’m not sure writing this today is worthwhile. I’ve been feeling rather alone lately, and holding on to this writing to you thing may not be helping that. I don’t know. Writing as if you’ll ever see any of this seems really kind of stupid right now. Though, that’s not why I’m writing… I started doing this because you were the only person I could talk to in various ways, about various things… and then, here I am writing these and putting them out there to the world at large.
It really doesn’t make a lick of sense.
You and I were so weird in the same ways. I think finding someone that fits like that is pretty rare. I just wish you’d been able to really believe in it, put trust in it… put trust in ME. I tried to help.
Today I’m tired. I’m sore, and I’m watching the wind rush through the trees in back of my house while listening to the Brewers. I’m not sure what I need or want. I’m not sure if I even want to figure it out yet.
I suppose I will, eventually.
I miss you, but it’s becoming old hat. It’s there, it sucks, but I’m getting used to it. That doesn’t mean it’s easier. In fact, it might be somewhat harder, even, because it’s just there.
*shrug* I don’t know.
I really do hope that there is something after this. That I will get to see you again eventually. That would be nice. I wish I could just believe that. Hope would be nice. As is, I’m just surviving. Living because I have to. Because the alternative isn’t an option.
Eh. I’m rambling. Not making much sense in my own head. I think you’d understand though, were you reading this.
I wish you were here for a hug.
-Iris
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I read a poem last night and it made me think of you.
To ____________
There is no reason
for me to keep counting
how long it has been
since you were here
alive one morning
as though I were
letting out the string
of a kite one day at a time
over my finger
when there is no string
from W.S. Merwin’s Present Company (2005)
That will probably apply at some point. I still keep track of the days, though… for who knows how long?
Thank you.