A Pretty Thing

October 7, 2007
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“You know I have been collecting pretty things for you ever since you left, sailed away on that boat filled with the sea water of life. Why did you go? Will you come back if I have enough pretty things?


“I always wonder what could have been if only I could have said it, but I can’t. You know I can’t talk to you in French it is to hard, your eyes make me jumble my words, my thoughts, my feelings, my life. Your skin as brown as your hair, as your eyes, as the woods, that hold the sky so high. It…it echoes in my brain like all those dreams we never had.


“Why did I not say hello? I know my French is bad, but maybe you would have thought it was cute. I mean you did do the shy smile and look down thing that always kills. But than again you were with that guy, nothing like me at all, big, probably had sex more than twice. Does it make you happy that he is most likely arrogant? But than again I could just be stereotyping, why am I doing that? I hate stereotyping, so why am I? See these questions have been plaguing my mind, my soul, my eyes, my heart, since seeing you. Please you could make it stop. I know you could even if we have never talked.


“Will this do? It is a toy boat I found, it is filled with flowers, is that pretty enough to attract your beauty? I found a beautiful picture, a photograph, black and white, you know they say things are more beautiful in black and white, there is no way you could be more beautiful. The photo, it is of slippers, it was in a dream, it made sense there. You made the slippers with a typewriter that spilled your thoughts unto soft-cotton that warmed my soul. I am not even so sure that you are pretty actually, I mean no offense, it was just so quick, a lighting in the complex beauty of human emotion as random as us thinking to step the same way to get out of each others paths, each others lives. It is called sequenced parallel randomness, mathematically it goes on forever. I hate math though, do you?


“You know it made me cry as you walked away, my eyes followed your walk knowing that I could have talked, that we could have loved, maybe had a life together. But you slowly faded away in the salty tears that fell in that boat, passing under that damn bridge. And now your image is fading in my mind like that last glance of you slowing rocking away. Why is it that the feelings of some one is more prevalent than the actually sight? If we remembered faces like we remembered feelings than you would be on all my walls, my bed, my shower, my toilet, my dog, you would be on my eye ball, you would be every girl I forever see.


“Come to think of it, why is such a stupid thing to wonder about, why this why that, why crap? Why is that, because of memories like this, the beauty of your life walking away are the only memories that fill up this damn honey jar that some b**** of a god will smear on their bread the next morning. Why is it now I am remembering the feeling of the feeling of seeing you, rather than you? It is you I want.

“If only you did not have to be French? I was so scared to talk in French or English, you might have heard the ugly accent that was bestowed on me.


“Well that is just about all I wanted you to know, to know that you are in my dreams, that shy smile rocking in my mind, oh how my eyes feel just thinking of that feel.


“But truthfully f*** this s***.


“I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for showing me true beauty in your brown eyes and shining skin. Thank you for showing me the love that anyone could ever hope to even hope of. Thank you for washing over my thoughts, my sights, my sounds, my feels, my everything. I have changed and not the bad way, people always say that change is bad, but trust me this is really good change, I mean really good, like cleaning up after two weeks of hiking in mud good.


“So to end this I shale send the wind that will send the thought of you, in that ship filled with salt water, under that bridge:


“Tu, je t’aime.”





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