a love letter

My darling iridescent angel,

Today I cannot shake you from my mind. I believe my dreams must've been full of your singing, you adorable siren.
These days I am strangely silent, as if everything I want to say doesn't seem worth saying to anyone but you. You--you make my favourite topics even more dear, with the way you firmly grasp them and spread them out before you--the way they make your eyes come alive.

I don't know how much longer I can go without hearing your laugh and seeing the way your eyes and nose screw up with merriment. I am saving up amusing things to tell you--I've got quite a trove of them now. I suspect, though, when I finally am able to be with you I shall lose them all in the flood of my long awaited happiness.

My hands are cold. Every single bit of me is cold. I wish you were here to warm me.
The shipwreck known as me has never longed to land anywhere but in your arms, I hope you know that. Every day spent all these miles from you makes that painfully apparent.

All my love to you and many kisses. For the two little rascals, as well. (I hope you tell them stories of me every night, so they are not forgetting their absent father who would really much prefer to be with them then stuck in a mire of endless business.)

I love you for always--till the moon crumbles, till the sun turns to ash, and far beyond that too.

Ever your incurably infatuated husband,

C.E.


Postscript - Make sure you write your reply in the strongest ink you can find--I always fear I'll fade your words with my constant readings.

-----------------------------------------

I finished reading the biography Everybody Was So Young: Gerald and Sara Murphy - A Lost Generation Love Story by Amanda Vaill yesterday and for some reason it inspired me to write this imaginary letter. There weren't really any love letters in the book, but spending time in the midst of that era (n.b. the 1920's and 1930's) and its people (the Murphys, the Fitzgeralds &c.)inspired me. Actually, it wasn't till I was looking up a picture of Sara Murphy that the letter started coming into my head. That would be the picture above, by the way. Isn't she lovely? She also happens to share a name with one of my favourite people... :)
The initials C.E. were pulled out of thin air, in case anyone was wondering.


Still don't really feel like talking about life. I am feeling pretty positive about this new year, though. I hope everyone else is too!

...but once a year.

I had a lovely Christmas and am sad it's over. The world looks a bleaker place without bright lights continually promising cheery respite from real life.

But...

Something happened a few days before Christmas that, while is most likely for the eventual (and even present) best, has caused much sorrow between myself and my mother.
Ever since it happened I've had trouble getting my brain to focus and get things done. I am really not sure why. Perhaps because the air is full of disrupted dust from memories that I had let settle in a dark corner a while ago.

Not to be histrionic, but I don't really want to talk about it. I don't really want to talk about anything, really.

I'm not uninspired, just terribly unsettled. So I'm writing snippets of stories, eating entirely too many sweet things, falling in love with Nina Nastasia's album, Dogs [a Christmas present from Younger Brother #1], and waiting to see what will happen next.

(The aforementioned Nina Nastasia album with a penguin puppet Younger Brother #2 gave to me since I have quite a thing for penguins. He joked that he regretted getting it for me since I was having waaay to much fun with it Christmas morning. I haven't decided what to name her yet... I know it must be a her since the rest of the penguins in my collection are boys.)


This is not much of a post, but I haven't posted for almost 3 weeks which is uncharacteristic of me. I wanted to let you know I am still here, as alive as I ever was.

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas. ♥



{'Dear Rose' by Nina Nastasia - the opening track of Dogs. Hmm, I'm noticing a trend of me putting music at the ends of my posts these days. What can I say? Music is good.}

the mental quiet

 
Quiet: the dearest of friends,
not a foe.
Never.

It was perturbing, at first,
to have silence inside and out;
only silence spinning a web in the eaves.

But the absence of a heartbeat,
no more creaking bones became
the most tranquil way of existence.

My mind let out a whir, infrequently:
a sound akin to raindrops
brushing past
the outspread fingers of the trees.

(Sleep on,
sleep on:
never dream aloud.

Bite back those thoughts.
Any sound might
melt this trance.)

Wishes slipping,
visions tripping:
the eventual souring of sleep.
I wake in a soaked, black-scribble bed.

And it haunts me the only reason I pray is
to remember you to God.

For now my soul has been opened, eroded
by the aggression of tears.

But...

How long until
I don't care again?

------------------------------------------

This piece is a strange combination of poetic license and a mélange of reality. I suppose that's hardly atypical, but I felt the need to mention it for some reason. The poem (as I suppose it is) was greatly inspired by the fact I've not been writing for the past... three weeks, I think? At first, I didn't really care; but finally it started eating me up inside, just eating me up. Yet I didn't want to force the issue, and the few thoughts that gleamed in the distance never felt worth pursuing. (The line between laziness and weariness often becomes saddeningly blurred for me. *sigh*) Scary things happened in vulnerable moments; I'd think, "Why do I bother writing?" or "I've had it with struggling with my music." Several mornings in a row, I nearly fell to pieces while trying to decide what to wear that day; I was that tired of having to get up every morning and live. But the Carole King song 'Beautiful' kept getting in my head: "You've got to get up every morning / with a smile on your face / and show the world / all the love in your heart..."
I've kept that song in mind, and, thanks to the fact my writing drought has ended, I'm trying to be more positive. While I haven't got the smile down yet, I get up every morning with a lighter heart, at least. And I'm extensively relieved to finally be writing again. I'm trying to make sure I never lose sight of my dreams again by remembering that, while writing is hard at times, especially as a possible career, ultimately it's what I love most. Haven't felt brave enough to work on songwriting again, but we're getting there.

Now I'm just hoping to be hit by some Christmas spirit... :) Maybe if the warm-ish weather would go away that would help. Please?







{Song is 'Beautiful' by Carole King and the painting is In Bed by Federico Zandomeneghi.}