lanktangles

Dear friend,

I am writing to you because she said you listen and understand and didn't try to sleep with that person at that party even though you could have. Please don't try to figure out who she is because then you might figure out who I am, and I really don't want you to do that. I will call people by different names or generic names because I don't want you to find me. I didn't enclose a return address for the same reason. I mean nothing bad by this. Honest.

I just need to know that someone out there listens and understands and doesn't try to sleep with people even if they could have. I need to know that these people exist.

I think you of all people would understand that because I think you of all people are alive and appreciate what that means. At least I hope you do because other people look to you for strength  and friendship and it's that simple. At least that's what I've heard.

So, this is my life.

.
.
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Love always,

Charlie

In the book, Patrick called Charlie a wallflower, and told him, "You see things. You keep quiet about them. And you understand." I think this book is awesome. I'd like to publish something like it someday. More importantly, I like the idea of an 'anonymous' friend. Do you sometimes feel that way, too, that it's easier to talk about some things to strangers? Not strangers strangers, but people you may be acquainted with or you've seen around but don't really know anything about. The optimist in me believes that a stranger won't pass judgement on another stranger. (I think the line between 'judgement'and 'first impression' is really thin, but it's still a line.)

I hate missing things. I've already missed so much, and time is moving way too fast. The biggest hassle of living under the same roof as the people who pay for everything you need is that you don't really have a say. Sure it's nice not having to worry about anything here at  home, I don't think I can bear to attend my best friend's wedding without close to six digits on my own bank account. (It was postponed, by the way.) I can't afford to be stranded for long periods anymore. I feel older and flabbier each time. If pandesal had ears, I'd tell them I understand exactly how they feel about looking like pandesal.

They found each other in the library cards. They annoyed each other, for some reason. The Baron was old and lonely for magic lost, but was glad for precious stones, unpolished as they were. Moon reappeared, and in a mess of jolly old men and forgotten things at the top of the world she, the tale spinner, and him, the violin maker, finally met, in a song about never coming back. Then the sun broke through the mountains screaming, "I love you!"

Hurray for Ghibli. Much tearstained praises for Whisper Of The Heart. I think I understand 'love at first sight' a little better now.

Stupid, stupid love. It's like lupus. It's always been there, yet you still mistake it for a lot of other things, and then it blindsides you like an eight-wheeler just when you're turning your bicycle for a U-turn on what you thought was an empty country road.

The thought that you're somewhere I can walk to gives me this weird sense of relief. It's not funny.