Ninety Third

Hold onto that.
It might be worth something someday.
And you can sell it, or something.
Take some scissors and slice up the words, choose your favourite sentence out of the entire thing and keep it under your pillow, let someone else have the rest of it, I don't mind, I don't think I do, I don't think I will.
(all important things are said in person)
(all my love I give you in person)
I think if one of my letters flew with you in a plane, made you feel so much less alone, rode with you in a car, fell asleep in your hands as your gaze travelled upwards towards the moving skies, held you close on a rainy rainy day that couldn't get worse and then it did, if it spent even half the amount of the time with you it took me to write it, that was all that mattered.
I give you these words for safekeeping, because I have more from where they came from anyway, because I can't hold it all in, everything I have to share.
Everything I want you to have, for now, for tomorrow, for as long as you want to have it for, it is yours. Keep them warm and my words will shelter you in a hug and hold I designed specifically for you.

Ninety Second

actually...

If I'm ever really jealous?
You'll never know.
When I'm honestly jealous...I don't even have the words, the energy to show you, tell you. I haven't the self-respect, the moment of peace to gather thoughts together. Everything sort of crumbles into a very dark corner. And telling you I'm jealous, or talking to you entirely, is out of the question.

Sometimes I even get a sudden rush of happiness that glows in your direction, and shout a remarkably loud "Congratulations."

Ninety First

Sometimes - not all the time - but sometimes,
some days,

there are very real moments when I realize
my parents might not be at my wedding.

And that's harder to take than they'll ever understand.

Ninetieth

No.
You and me?
We'll never really happen.
I have too much respect for you.
I could never do that to you.
Do me to you.

Does that make sense?

Eighty Ninth

my favourite thing about this summer class
is that no one knows who I am.

And I don't have to be anybody.
and I don't have to be a playwright
and I don't have to know an abnormal amount about queer theory
and I don't have to be this person
this person.
I can just be nobody.

or
I can just sit
and just be.

Eighty Eighth

Hey.

Please stop acting like I'm untoucheable.
Please stop treating me like
like I'm unattainable.

As though my thoughts are more important than yours
my schedule more interesting
my life more meaningful.

It isn't.
And I need someone

I need to believe
that someone can see through all of this

past the fireworks.

Eighty Eigth

I had a dream about you, the other night.
I had come back from New York, a sensation, busy as always, richer than expected, for a weekend during your dead week, and my off-season. We went to a party, and you were just as beautiful as I always remember you. And as the night drew to a close, we took a stroll, a quiet walk by the Old Port, knocking wrists as we always do, and I watched you calmly, my heart aching to feel yours.
And just as the sun was rising, I stopped you. I held your cold hands in mine, laced our fingers loose and close, and I pressed my forehead to yours, inhaled your scent at long last. And I told you, "New York is amazing. But sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes, I ask myself, 'When will it be enough? How much longer will you stay here, before you go home? Go back to her. This isn't the person you need to be. This life isn't what you want, if she isn't in it. Go home. Go back to her.'"

It was a lot.
I didn't know I liked you this much.
Maybe it's just a dream.

But I miss you
so much
when you aren't around.

Eighty Seventh

Dear Children,

No, actually.
No. I will defend her.

Listen, I know her hair is bleached blonde to the point of complete ruination, I can see her burnt ends from overuseage of a straightener. I can see her brunette roots growing back in, and I see that now it's just turned white, her hair is almost like frothy snow. And I see her puckered hot pink lips, and her fake tan. I see her fake tan, and if I didn't, I'd hear it, because everyone loves to call her to Oompa Loompa, because no one thinks she can hear it, and no one thinks laughter carries in these halls.

I see it, all of it,
and I would have seen it all if you hadn't pointed it out to me, too.
but no.
No. I see her.
I hear her.
She's intelligent. And caring. And sensible.
But what, that's not okay? Because you're not okay with it?
So she's been reduced to a frosty Oompa Loompa
because you've let her believe it.
Well stop it.

She doesn't need to change, for you.

Eighty Sixth

-Don't give up.
-'Don't give up'? I have to.
-But..
-I have to, Mother. Because there's nothing wrong with me.
-How can you say that?
-...
-How can you say that, when you could one day want to marry a girl?

Eighty Fifth

That was, in restrospect, very selfish of me.

This has nothing to do with you.
That was, in restrospect, very rude of me.

I'm sorry.

You can be anything.
You are who you are.
What you are is a beautiful person.

Eighty Fourth

One day, dear (I assure you, I do)
One day, dear, we will look back
and I will tell you with the most amused expression on my face
how hard I tried to not fall for you.