Letter to Burn

_____,

There are so many things I should have said to you then, so many things I wish I had asked. I don't understand you; what were your motivations with me? What compelled you to do what you did? You manipulated me, and unlike previous situations, I don't even understand to what point and purpose. What did you have to gain from me? I was an island of a soul for a reason, and you came along and built a raft. You made me trust you. Your lines were so well rehearsed. We sat back and marveled at how real it was. You told me there was simply no other way of doing things. Others have heard that line, as I found out recently. You were so charming, but it was all an act. You were so sincere, but it was a farce. You were so sweet, but it was saccharine sweetness. As I once read, "Sweet words are never sincere. Sincere words are never sweet." You lend truth to that statement.

You fell out of love with me, you say, though I doubt you were ever in love with me in light of the way you treated me. You were attentive and romantic in the beginning, it was all about me. All the while you had another girl hanging on your every word. She wasn't across the state. Convenience was your motivation. You said you didn't want to hurt me, you wanted it all to work out, when we got where we could "try and make it work". You lied to me. That day you came to see me at Wind, you lied to me. You looked into my eyes and you lied without any remorse whatsoever. You lay in the grass with my head on your chest and your steadily beating heart did not betray your motivations. You went home and saw her. I was irrelevant. I meant so little to you, you could shamelessly go to her. She meant so little to you that you could do the same to her.

Maybe it was your upbringing. Your parents vacillated between doting and leaving you. Then again, I have no idea how much of what you told me was true. You seemingly used your parents and their apparent troubles to cover for your own dishonesty. They weren't quarreling over Spring Break, you were quarreling with her. After that you immediately sought another convenient source of affirmation. It strikes me that you enjoy this game. You enjoy carelessly sweeping girls off their feet only to toss them away when they become an inconvenience. Your romantic Nihilism is unwittingly cruel.

Maybe you aren't capable of genuinely loving someone. Maybe it's horribly frustrating for you to always fall out of love unexpectedly. I don't believe that though. It seems to me that you constantly need a source of positive affirmation, someone to tell you the sun rises for you, to give you everything they have. You enjoy that feeling of power. Maybe you even enjoy the chaos that naturally follows. I hate that you are going to Evergreen. You probably haven't even told her, she thinks you're not going anymore. She thinks she'll be living with you. Or at least, that was the story last I spoke to her. How can you lie to her? I'm sure you looked her in the eyes and promised you would change, said you were sorry. I doubt you have. I doubt you will.

How many girls are you going to do this to? I won't be waiting for you at Evergreen. I never want to speak to you again. I want you to disappear. I want every ounce of pain and pleasure that you have induced to melt away. I don't want to see another girl feel the way I do right now at your hands. I can't stand to see another in this situation. I've never hated anyone in my life, but I hate you. Honesty is something I value and revere over everything in this world. You were patently dishonest. You were positively cruel. What you did was unforgivable. What you are doing is unforgivable. I can only hope that karma will repay you for the damages you have done.

Truthfully,
Chloe

Reciprocation

I don't know what love is. I've tried so many times to define it, thinking I had it, but the tables always turned back around on me. My mind is berating me currently. I don't know what I want, all I know is that sleeping alone is miserable. I hardly sleep because of it. Love is a basic human need. Even when I was sleeping alone just a few short weeks ago, I could smile softly as I drifted off, thinking there was someone- though far away- that was probably doing the same. Looking back, I question whether or not it was even real. Was it even love? I don't know anymore. At the time it felt so real, but, love blurs reality. I don't trust my own heart at the moment. It tends to betray my best interest, and I end up with a general feeling of melancholy. I am afraid. I don't trust my own judgement anymore, and I've been forced to once again redefine everything I thought I knew. The cleverly engineered structure of my ideals and ideas has been dismantled by catastrophic force again, and I am left to pick up the pieces and reforge a solid foundation. This is the sort of thing that keeps me from sleep these days. Everything is so good, the future is so bright, and yet this feeling comes creeping as soon as I am left alone with my mind.

I worry that he will do it again, to some other unsuspecting girl. He'll sweep her off her feet and then miraculously fall out of love with her when she is head over heels; and rather than confessing this to her, he'll simply seek greener pastures. Was any of it real? He never even apologised for the nightmarish ending, as he probably doesn't have the slightest notion of the effect it has had. I'm tough, to a point, but on an emotional level, especially when it comes to love, when I am wounded, I tend to stay down- though not by all appearances- for quite some time. Therein lies the danger in throwing yourself whole hearted into something on the off chance that it could be something worthwhile. I never love halfway, it's all or nothing, full disclosure, honest, true, passionate, genuine love. It wears me out. After giving all that I have for so long, and so many times, I'm down for the count. In time all wounds will heal, but currently, I have no capacity to reciprocate anything to anyone. I'm too terrified of the possibility of yet another heartbreak to throw myself back in again. Yet, I feel like I should, I feel like it's worth it, despite the risk. As John Robbins said, "We need both to receive and to give love. Love is food for our souls, and without it we suffer greatly, just as we suffer physically if we starve." I don't want to starve.

Boxes and Crates

I feel homeless. Today I packed my room up, almost entirely, into boxes. It's amazing how quickly I was able to pack 14 years worth of possessions up, and how little it really amounted to. Just a few boxes, scattered across my now open floor. I couldn't bring myself to take down all of my posters, not yet. I have 19 days, as time barrels down on me. Soon I will be at Evergreen, and I cannot wait. This weird transitional phase is nearly unbearable. I feel like I'm caught in a waiting room, and unfortunately, I recycled all the old magazines, and all the books are packed into a double milk crate. The funny thing is, I know that home is only a concept, but I have lived in this house since I was four years old, so it became home. It became that place that I longed for when I was away too long, and that I was comfortable in. It may sound silly, but the first time I set foot on campus at TESC, I felt like I was home. I didn't have to be anything but myself, and it has since been somewhere that I have constantly had a subconscious longing to be near.

That is not to say that I didn't deviate from the plan for a short while. There was a point in time where I had commited to attending UW and going into medicine. Partly to be impressive and have stability, and partly to fit in with my then present situation. In hindsight, it was all foolishness. I was worn down and ragged from years of career counsellors telling me that I had to choose a conventional career, something that would offer me stability and safety. The quizzes would indicate that I ought to go into Arts and Communications- which was a loosely used term to express that I ought to become a sell out artist, do something safe that would earn enough money to put bread on the table. After a series of hellish heartbreaks, I came to the conclusion that I had absolutely no interest in stability and financial safety. Happiness was what I sought. I wanted to be happy, in whatever destitute or prosperous pass-time I choose to pursue. I decided that living happily in my car, being creative, eating rice, and not being able to afford shoes was much more desirable than living comfortably in the suburbs, working 9 to 5 in a maze of cubicles. Human beings are not meant to live in little boxes like that. It's unnatural, and it's unhealthy. I want to see the world, experience, express, create. Going to Evergreen will allow me to marry my two passions- worded and visual expression- into something I can make a living of. Into something that will probably cause me to be eternally lower middle class and content. Something that will go hand in hand with my wander-lust, and even go as far as to promote it.

People Watching

People watching is by far one of the most entertaining activities this world has to offer- yeah, that probably makes me sound like a creeper. I'm not doing it for kicks, people are generally intriguing to me. The way that the people around me in the world act and react to the situations they are in is fascinating. Certain actions seem learned or conditioned, while others seem innate and programmed. For instance, lounging poolside today, I noted the dating and competition rituals of various other pool visitors. There was a set of three girls, who strutted in, clearly feigning confidence. They sheepishly wandered around, sticking close together as if they were glue invisibly at their stiffly carried shoulders. Acting as if they were disinterested in the pool in its entirety, and laughing amongst themselves while keenly watching the world around them to see if they were being noticed. They continued this for some time as I lounged, until they spotted two girls of roughly the same age carelessly and confidently playing in the pool. Upon seeing this competition, they moved overtly to the pool trying to out-show the other girls. When their competition went unaware of their antics, they left the pool entirely.

This whole parade seemed nonsensical to me. Had I been in this situation- which I wouldn't have been, they were acting ridiculous- I would have gone and talked to the other girls, asked to join their game. Women seem to be conditioned to compete with each other, and I simply don't want to play that game. What's the point? I can be myself happily without cutting down others in the process, it seems counter-productive. Yet the game continues, as it has for years. This girl has this, I don't have this, I want this; whether this is a boyfriend, a pretty dress, great legs, or a fantastic pair of stilettos, rather than being happy with what they have, women seem always to want something different. At least in America, women don't seem to go out of their way to compliment each other. Every other woman is competition, a threat, even friends are a threat. It doesn't make sense to me. People are people, people will do what they do, people have what they have. I don't particularly care. I have what I have and if a man isn't attracted to it over what another has, then it's not going to work out anyway. Rather than focusing on the things that they have, a lot of women are worried about what everyone else has, and what everyone else is thinking about what they have. They cut each other down to eliminate the threat. Men hit each other, women give each other eating disorders. It's a vicious game. They worry constantly about what both men and women think of them. The irony of worrying about what people think about you all the time is that they are probably thinking about what everyone else thinks about them, not about you. So why compete? Why play that game? Why worry?

Anticipation

Today I got my room assignment for college! I got a single, in the non-quiet dorms. I am so excited! I cannot wait to meet my suite mates. Hopefully they won't all be shower hoarders. I'm considering showering at 4 in the morning so I can be sure I'll have hot water and nobody else wanting to get in the whole time. It's really happening. In 23 days I will start living in my temporary dorm for XC practice. I cannot wait to get there and meet everyone and start living on my own. Not living at home is going to be a little weird, going from living on a farm in the middle of nowhere to living in a dorm right next to the city. Going from living two floors off the ground to seven floors off the ground. I'm nervous about being up that high. I've never slept so far from the ground. It will be an adjustment. I fully intend to drop small objects from my dorm very late at night. Pennies, and possibly small water balloons, maybe spit. I have to experience this whole dropping things fad, I haven't had the opportunity before this.

Another thing that I intend to do. I intend to take up nearly full-time residence in the library. I love that library. Not going for ghostly pale nerd library dweller status, but I definitely want to read a lot, and besides, that library smells phenomenal. Old books, mmm. So many intentions. I also intend to ride my bike all over Olympia, and to run around the epic nature trails. Going to drink a lot of coffee too, and go in the sauna (events unrelated). I'm going to eat a lot of rice. Sew a lot. Knit a lot. Meet new people, make new friends, try new things. College is all and all promising to be amazing. I. Cannot. Wait.

Love Child

My goldfish died today. One would think that such an event would seem insignificant and meaningless to an 18 year old girl, but I wept. Literally wept. Hubert Cumberdale was a noble little creature. He didn't require much, just clean water, oxygen, food, and a little attention now and then. Today was the hottest day of the year thus far. It was 101 degrees. Needless to say, goldfish in large chemistry beakers cannot withstand heat. His death was discovered after dark, and my mom was kind enough to bury him in the yard; I thought he deserved more than a flush. A replacement was required in short order, I enjoy taking care of small water bound creatures.

So at about 10pm Hannah drove over and we made a trip to wal-mart (I don't generally shop there, but it is the only place that one can procure fish after 10pm). We had gotten Hubert there at 1am one night after painting a room (eggplant and ethnic yellow, just to clarify). A sketchy man- probably on meth, judging by a pitiful lack of teeth- helped us net him out of the large blue-green tank that teemed with goldfish. He was purchased and poured into his cylindrical tank in the parking lot. The cylindrical tank was later replaced by a 4000 ml chemistry beaker that I discovered in the China Cabinet. This container I brought with me on our most recent trip. Bottom full of colourful marbles and filled about halfway with fresh water, I carried it to the fish section.

The Mexican man working there hit on us. It was moderately awkward. I selected 6 particular fish and a small fiddler crab from the wall of scummy tanks. We told the man the story of Hubert Cumberdale, and he was intrigued. An air stone and filter were also purchased, and we wheeled our band of replacements to the checker, stopping to try on souvenir fish hats and snap a few photos. The fish were purchased, and we poured them into the beaker in front of the store, dumping excess water on the gaudy faux red brick pavement area. The bags were disposed of in the nearest receptacle. We then clamoured back in Hannah's car, making sure to keep Barron- her new dingo dog- securely in the back as he licked at us affectionately.

Sleep

Once again sleep will not come easily. My mind is at work on so many things that it is nearly impossible to sleep these days. I simply lay here in the calming heat of warm summer nights praying for rain. Rain to provide a lullaby to drown out my ceaseless thoughts. To silence the ever turning cogs. It's a reoccuring trend these days, this insomnia. The usual remedies are no longer working. Midnight bike rides on the driveway once quieted the mind. Pedalling and pedalling, faster and faster, and then, stop, cruise, close my eyes and pretend to fly. Staring longingly into the sky, wishing- as someone so eloquently articulated to me recently as their own train of thought- that I could simply jerry-rig a ladder system tall enough to touch just one of the stars. My mind is cruel though. I contemplate making contact with the constellations and then a deeply buried memory rises up; that the star I am seeking to grasp may not even exist anymore. It may have imploded centuries ago, but is so far away that we cannot know here on earth until one day it is simply missing from the horizon.

Then my wicked mind begins to gnaw at the notion that the impact we have made on this planet is fleeting and disposable. That nothing I accomplish, say, do, or create will survive beyond my demise more than a few milenieu. Dark, really. My optimistic nature is challenged by the encroaching darkness of my surroundings. The sun is on the other side of the earth now, warming the soil and lighting the day for the people it is currently residing over. So many people. So many people in the world, so many billions, so many of which I will never speak a word to. Whose eyes will never meet mine, whose lives I will never touch. At this point in my train of thought I begin to wonder: what am I doing here? I am living. But to what point and purpose? I am experiencing. But for what, and to what end? I lay my head down and ponder the insignificance of my existence, and then I realise, I can make whatever I want of this life. To sit and worry over whether or not I am doing what I ought to be doing is a waste. When the sunlight comes I will rise and do whatever it is that I do. It will matter to me and to the people in my life. I suppose in my life, that's all that really matters.

I don't know why I'm here, I just know that I want to be happy. I want to do and see and be all the things that I aspire to be. I want to love, in any capacity that seems natural. I want to find people that I can share things in my life with. That I can teach and learn from. I want to do exactly what I intend to do and not plan a moment of it beyond unrealistic, wild, and absurd imagination. I want to live. I want to sleep...