dear you --

we've always been on different planets and it's never caused me grief, but now you're halfway around the world and i wonder if i even cross your mind.  i like to believe that you think of me, not often, but occasionally, for that would keep both of us out of danger and me in a mood somewhere between "not-quite-jolly" and "incandescent."  a wide margin, i know.

and now, i must ask -- does my visage bring pleasure to you?  sometimes i think that it does, but if my memory makes you revile, i should hope you do not think of me at all.  it is far more important that you are happy.  your smile becomes you, and i should like to see it again someday.


=


dear you --

walk along the seine for me.  you promised me a snapshot and i promised you one empty page filled.  will you keep your bargain?


=


dear you --

i'd say you smile like the sun, but your glowing grin is more like the waning crescent.  it outshines every star, but sometimes it's a new moon, and i see nothing at all.  why is that?

you told me once that your favorite word was quintessence -- "the most perfect, perfect thing you can imagine," you said.  huh.  i should have guessed.


=


dear you --

"i love you."
it fell from your lips with all the verity i've ever known, but i could never believe something like that.  leave me, forget me, cast me off like yesterday's wishes, but don't say a word.


=


dear you --

i still think about that night, our heads cradled in the sofa as we picked out constellations.  your face was so pale, your eyes so bright, your mouth drawn out in that charming way as you regarded me wtih surprised laughter.  i never would have guessed we carried the same childish secret, and then --

          "i love you."
oh no oh no oh no no no.
you couldn't.


=


dear you --

thank you for treetops and daydreams and stolen embraces; thank you for tired eyes and white lies.  thank you for calling me "almost pretty," thank you for thinking me happy.  you're wrong, you know, but i won't hold it against you, for i know that we've both been dishonest.  it's just that some of us are more beautiful liars than others.


=


dear you --

is it wrong that i need you so much, not just my heart is breaking, but my skin is fracturing, too?  i've never thought it wrong to leave the one you like for the one you love, but this, this could be very wrong, indeed.  we are incorrect, but we are beautiful.  if wrong is the opposite of right, then what is left?

what is left of us?


=


dear you --

please, stay a while.  tell me about paris.

tell me about her.