its sad, really. people rust. they evaporate. they slowly erase. and we wonder what happened. was it our fault or theirs? did we neglect the friendship or did they no longer need what we had to give? the boys, the girls. one day their names will begin with, “you know, whats her name.”
its tough when you realize that the nature of relationships is constantly evolving, despite every attempt you make to make it last. to live in love. to freeze people in memory.

I love you” means that I accept you for the person that you are, and that I do not wish to change you into someone else. It means that I will love you and stand by you even through the worst of times. It means loving you even when you’re in a bad mood, or too tired to do the things I want to do. It means loving you when you’re down, not just when you’re fun to be with. “I love you” means that I know your deepest secrets and do not judge you for them, asking in return that you do not judge me for mine. It means that I care enough to fight for what we have and that I love you enough not to let go. It means thinking of you, dreaming of you, wanting and needing you constantly, and hoping you feel the same way for me.

You can, perhaps, forsee a serious of terrifically dramatic relationships in my future, all ending with me in an Ophelian heap in my quilt. I had a love affair with books, with the characters and their worlds. Books kept me company. When the voices of the book faded, as with the last long chord of a record, the back cover crinkling closed, I could swear I heard a door click shut.

I do tell him I have bipolar, and joking say that he might want to think twice about getting involved with me. In fact, I give him a list of a hundred and one reasons not to date me, and bipolar is at the top of the list. I feel like I’m poisonous. So I give him my disclaimer, and hope for the best…

Now that this sudden articulate awareness of my most terrible eternal predicament has come to me, I must know that you understand this and WHY I had to write you then and now: if you do not ever want to write to me again, send me a blank, unsigned postcard, something, anything, to let me know that you did not tear my words and burn them before knowing that I am both worse and better than you thought. I am human enough to want to be talking to the only other human who matters in this world.

I gasp and let out a sigh. I gaze at Jeff. I adore him. He is the most wonderful person alive. I am suddenly struck by the fact that he is unlike anyone else in the world. How many people could love me like this? …Who could? Who would? Why would they?

Now there is nothing miraculous in this, except that he seems to want to see me; perhaps it is one of those cases where he was put off by my emotional, irresponsible gushing at first and is finding that I CAN talk lucidly and with certain perception. At any rate, he is a most calming influence and as mentioned before, I like the logical solidity of his mind; he has a fine mind.