<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d33206271\x26blogName\x3dThe+Fine+Art+of+Falling+Apart\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dTAN\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://fineartoffallingapart.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://fineartoffallingapart.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d6081200608643811586', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>


This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

Dear Lover...

Buckley and Gish
Originally uploaded by
Abstract Magdalene.

Dear lover,
It's snowing where I am. Not that fluffy romantic kind, but the kind that gathers in thin, mean layers on the ground. Crystal onion layers. The wind is harsh, too. When I walked into the store this evening, I had to bend my body against the force of it, and curled my hands around my collar, as if I were a person in a movie.

I am stuck listening to Ryan Adams. I told Craig to tell his bass player friend to tell Ryan that I want to marry him. Sounds complicated, but it's not. How can one not want to marry a man who writes songs like Please Do Not Let Me Go ? I mean, really. 43 seconds from the end of the song, is my favourite part. You'd know that, though, being my lover. You'd know that I love harsh weather even when I complain about it, because it's what reminds me of the comforts of home. And you.

I know it's been awhile since I've seen you last. The days in between are many. The sound of your voice is a balm on what ails me. I pretend I don't miss you, or need you, or want you...but in the end, it feels like the sum of all I am. Terrible, to let emotion rule the daily being of a person, yes? Can you read/hear what I'm saying?

What keeps you, I know I can't get past it. Passed. I just have to let the days slide by, and have faith that I'll see you again. Soon. Sooner than I had thought, but not soon enough to stop my missing of you.

Please don't go skating in Central park without me. Don't check into the Chelsea hotel without my half of our signature. When I get my shit together, I'll come. The last train before the end, the sleeper cars are all full, I couldn't get a spot. I'd say meet me at the station but I'm not sure when I'll arrive.

Just send me a Valentine in your heart, miss my face even when you have no idea. Our time will be here soon enough.

Labels: , , , , , , , , ,

You can leave your response or bookmark this post to del.icio.us by using the links below.
Comment | Bookmark | Go to end