Letter and Reply 23
Saturday, November 15th and Monday, November 17th, 2003
Letter and Reply 23
Delivered at 2:32 pm, Saturday, November 15th.
Dear Billy,
I’m so glad you’re well again, love. Just don’t go back and read my poem now. Your opinion of it may have changed.
I know Dom would love to see a film with you. I’m sure he needs to get out of the house himself, if he’s feeling up to it. And if he isn’t, he certainly wouldn’t be opposed to rental movies for a night. I know I wouldn’t be. Not if it were to be spent with you. I can see you wrapped around a warm mug of cocoa. Then, I can also see your face illuminated by a movie screen as I watch you and forget there ever was a movie to begin with.
I must have forgotten to train Thomas to speak. I’m terribly sorry. I guess that’s another thing I’ll have to make up for later, you know. But I’m sure Thomas does a wonderful guarding job. He takes after me, hey. Just wants to stare at you all night.
I’m afraid I don’t have a dream/poetry journal really. I guess I keep something of a regular journal, but I don’t put much thought into it. I didn’t actually start thinking about poetry really until I began writing to you. Some things about you are too poetic to write in average sentences, you know. I’ve begun to think that all of my letters should just be poems, to have them make more sense.
If you’d like, though, you could get me a journal as a gift. And you could read it you know. Of course you could. I would speak my poetry to you, if you wanted it. The point is, Billy, I want you to know all of my secrets. My heart is trying to push every one onto this paper, but my hands won’t allow it sometimes, because they’re a little more particular than my heart. I have a feeling, though, that if you were to give me an empty journal one Christmas, I would give you a filled one the next Christmas. But do you enjoy reading so much about yourself, is the question...
Christmas Eve, Billy... Christmas Eve is sounding like perhaps the best day of my life. Or maybe the best day yet had by anyone in the world. I don’t mind if you say nothing to me at all that day. Remember what happened in my dream when you said nothing? I’ll keep that in mind, if it’s all right with you.
I think I might always be a little afraid of rejection Billy. Even if we were to wake up tangled on Christmas morning and you were to place a kiss soundly on my lips, I might still fear it. Just knowing that I own something so fragile…I can see how easily it might be broken. I’ve been through enough broken relationships to know the rules, and how the rules don’t even apply.
But for now, I’ll be sound, myself, in knowing how much I care for you. No matter what, Billy, I will care for you. If I ever get up close to you – I mean really close – my mind will be knotted with every urge I have to care for you, you lovely thing. How could I possibly turn you away? I’m entirely too selfish and infatuated to do that.
I need some wonderful ballad that will encapsulate how I feel about you. I just can’t seem to find the right song. I have so many of these bloody awful bands, (which I love), and none of them make any decent soft songs. You need a soft song, I think anyway. You’re so soft yourself. At least I think so. Are you soft, Billy? Okay, now, don’t worry if Dom suddenly comes up to you and touches your forehead or something. He has to tell me this. I’m making him tell me most everything. Even when it comes to gauging how soft you are. I just want to find a song for you. Something like “Someone Like You,” which isn’t a song that I know of, actually. Perhaps someone should write it. Someone like me, maybe, hey?
Someone like you
Means something so much
To someone like me
You know it’s true
I know that you do...
Like that, you know. Or maybe you’d add some parts… And then it would be perfect for you.
I hope your weekend is relaxing for you, Billy. Take care, and know that I’ll be thinking of you all of Sunday. (Not excluding every day after that).
Forever,
MS
p.s. – Don’t mind my bravery on the subject…but did you say “love struck”? Just wondering… You know. (You really don’t have to respond to this. In fact, just ignore every word). You know how when you get really nervous you just tend to keep talking? Yeah, this is one of those times.
Ignore that, too.
Written at 3:45 pm, Monday, November 17th
Dearest MS,
Well, I did go back and read your poem again, and my opinion did change. It just got better.
Of course, Dom went and got ill. I could have told him that would happen, in fact, I probably did, so really, I'm not obligated to feel the least bit sorry for him, but of course I do. He spent most of yesterday in bed, and I made him swear he'd stay at home today as well. He seems to be on the mend, but I worry he’s just doing that to make me happy. He better not try to get up before he’s fully well, or I’ll kill him.
As a result, you’ll receive this letter a day late, tomorrow, Tuesday. I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. I’d deliver it myself, but Dom’s assured me he’ll be up and ready to go tomorrow and that there’s no need for him to tell him your address, really. Well, you can’t blame a man for trying.
So I spent all of Sunday with him, just talking really. I almost wish now that I had left him alone to get his rest, but honestly, it was one of the best Sundays I’ve had in a long time. He finally told me he was staying, by the way, and I can’t remember a time I was happier to hear something. It’s going to be brilliant having him around. Not that I’m not already used to that, but the idea that it’s semi permanent at least makes me ten times happier.
I’m going to set about looking for the proper journal right away. You must promise me, however, that you’ll write about everything in it. I want day to day accounts as well as your lovely poetry. I want the whole you, preserved on paper.
Will you sing your song for me when we meet? Really, it is your song, and not mine, because not only did you write it, but it fits you to a tee. I’d love to hear it performed, so I could get it stuck in my head all day, every day.
Don’t you know by now I can’t ignore any part of your letters? Especially when you get adorable and rambley, even though you shouldn’t be nervous at all. There’s no reason to be. And yes, I did say “love struck.”
Weekends are too long, you know? What makes Sunday so special that post can’t be delivered?
Never thought I’d love weekdays so much.
Yours eight days a week (even Sundays),
Billy
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