I Can't Believe In Me Anymore.

You say that I choose sadness, that it never once has chosen me.

Maybe you're right.

Rilo Kiley

{Photo: Ida Cathrin Flickr}

I'm Sorry, Too.

My mom sent me a letter today - among other things. A whole package, really.

It was all unexpected. The package that she sent - but the even more so - the words she sent it with, all caught me off guard.

She wrote me things that I had thought to myself in the deepest corners of my mind and heart many times, but was so sure that this woman - this stranger in my home - never could quite get.

My family, without my brother..

In reading her letter, a sadness washed over me, that came with the realization that she understood in her own strange way. That she had been fighting to make the words work and come out, and I had never seen that.

A sadness at the opportunities never acknowlegded.

A sadness that we left each other without even knowing who the other was.

And I'm sitting here now, enjoying the hell out of the dried mangoes she sent along, and wondering if we could have been close. If it was ever in our cards to be friends, and somehow we both passed it by..

Her letter to me: more than anything, was an apology letter.  Admitting that she didn't know always, the best way to raise me. That as she watched me grow she wished she had gone about the whole parenthood thing differently. She told me of her regrets.

It was healing for me to read her words.

I love my mom, I always have. Our home was not a bad place. Not even a little. It was a peaceful place. No, we did not have struggles that you could look at, hear or touch -- just a disconnect. It was not a place where we could share our joys and sorrows openly. I didn't try to keep secrets from her, but many times it seemed like she just didn't want to know. She never expressed an interest in really knowing my life - always skirting over the big stuff.

I am not like my mother, in more ways than I can count. But today I found out that we do have similarities. More than I could have guessed. That heals me.

S.

Come, my love, we have oceans to sail.

I hope my life is made up of real adventures. I think that being bored is a terrible tragedy in this world that is so beautiful and so full. It shouldn't be wasted.

{Photo: Thea's World Vision}

S.

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In those days, we finally chose to walk like giants and hold the world in arms grown strong with love. And there may be many things we forget in the days to come,

But this will not be one of them.

Brian Andreas

{Photo: Raised By Pirates}

Don't Read This.

My hands are cold today. I can't shake that.

Do you know, today, I put on that old shirt and that scarf. Something I wore, one day, with you. You wouldn't remember. But this morning, I thought of that day. I got dressed to that day.

It's not important, I don't think. The details. But sometimes, somehow, they become bigger then they were. Magnified through time and seperation and imagination.

You know, it's funny how it always comes back to you. Even - especially - when I don't want it to.

I never did want it to.

But I think there were moments when I knew it would.

If I'm lucky, you'll never see this. You'll never know this.

(But you know I'm rarely lucky, and I'm always, always cold.)

S.

When We Are Together Again

We will devour raspberry rooibos tea infused dark chocolate. Lying on a bed - because that is where it tastes the best.

We will sing loudly to songs - you'll sing well and I'll sing off-key, as I always do, but I'll probably be louder. And I'll be dancing around like a lunatic, please join.

We'll take pictures. Oh you know we will. But we can't be blamed. It's in our bones.. So look your best.

I will go through your iTunes, trying to fix all the mistakes - and there will be too many to deal with, of course. You really should stay on top of that.

We will spend the time in the sun - I pray there will be sun - because the Lord knows we need it.

We will talk wistfully, angrily, softly, jokingly, with terror and excitement. About life and death; growing and learning; travels and work; friendships and fall-outs; the past and the future.

And about boys. How stupid they are and how stupid we are for bothering. And how they tend to have to do with all of the things we will converse about. And we will vow to forget them, but we never will, so we'll talk about them more.

Oh, and you will tell me your cute stories - I know you have them.

And I'll tell you how I'm a fool. How I'm still a fool - but how I'm enjoying it now, how I'm enjoying life.

And we'll squeel about the future. How it's coming towards us at hyper speed, and how somehow it is already upon us. How our time is slipping away, so we must hold on, and soak it in, and love it, and remember it for what it is - short.

We'll talk about the transition from high school to university life. How we think we've changed in only a few small months.

When we are together again it will be like not a minute has passed since we saw each other last.

{And for the record, you're great at  conversing, you're funny and witty and clever, so don't you worry about that. And smile. Start with that. That's what I've found. Don't be afraid to overhear conversations and jump in. Don't be afraid to ask for directions. To ask if you can sit down with someone. Everyone is looking for someone to show a little kindness and not the averse treatment of someone living in fear.}

Miss you pretty lady. You're going to do amazing things, you know.

S.

ps. Quebec is nice.