Dearest Zappa,

I miss being able to come home to you and forget all about me. All about my stupid dark and twisty. I miss that.

Because this dark and twisty is tiring. I can't trust men. I dream terrible things when I do sleep. Sometimes, I can't sleep at all. Sometimes, I can't stop sleeping.

I keep thinking that this new job will help me be busy. Help me be normal. But if it doesn't help. If I still remain all messed up on the inside, what am I going to do?

I'm so exhausted.

And this has nothing to do with you. I mean ofcourse the end of Friti is sad and all that. But this is not about that at all. This is something else entirely. This is all me.

I want to die. I'm not suicidal. I know how selfish suicide is, and well, I'm not suicidal. Besides, Ive to rid my cupboard of all the love letters and tequilla bottles before I pop it. And there's too much to clean. :) Yes, I have received many many love letters.

I just miss having a safe place.

I hope you've found one. We all know your demons make mine look like cartoon cutouts.

Love Always,

me

My 'notes' on the back of a GRE book

Dearest,

This must be my millionth love letter to you. And even after all this time, after all the damage. After everything you did to destroy, and continue to do. Something essential remains simple.

What I'm trying to say is, my love for you is no longer the same. But, that, its still there. It still exists. Its no longer a happiereverafter kinda love. It metamorphized. It had to. But it didn't evaporate. And if you ever needed me to, I'd find it in me to hold you together.

Does this mean I'm a weaker person? Does this mean I'm a stronger person. Does this mean all my lovers after you will give me trouble, be vary of the room in my mind that belongs to you? I don't know. And, honestly, I don't care. Because noone can replace your room. And you have no hope of ever entering theirs.

But friends? Hell no. 'Friend' to me is such a sacred word. It takes almost nothing to make someone a lover. Some clothes come off. Some terms of endearment. And, thats all. But friends? When the clothes are back on, and your name stays what it should, they still know you better than any of the people that walk in and out of your life.

I don't need a definition. I never really did. Maybe you lulled me into the world of definitions. But I always knew I was only just visiting, and thats why it was so painfully sweet.

So I just want you to know that in this world that is fickle. I am not.

I am still here. And, my walls maybe back up. They have reason to be. But underneath it all, I will love you always.

Not forever, but always.

Love Always,

me

*finding this scribbled letter sparked off this blog

The why of it all

A strange impulsive idea. To publish the unsent email drafts. To type out all those letters written down. Some on tissue, one on toilet paper. To articulate all that I'm not sure I want to. To find the anger so I can truly find the peace.

And send all this emotion out into the cyber world. Will it make it less or more real? On a public blogger address that I give out to nobody.

The irony of a secret that everyone can see.

And maybe nobody will.