Letter to an Unnamed Lover

I had a good day today. I laughed often and drank good coffee and tried a new beer. It was good. Made with coconut. I sat at the bar and stared at the writing on my open notebook page. Words written while lifted with pot and booze. Something about my heart and the universe and the connection between the two.  

I talked with some strangers. Women. Beautiful. They seemed extra human to me today, set against the backdrop of a sort of nightmarish reality I see forming around me. Their eyes seemed brighter somehow…I don’t know. 

I’m writing you this letter because I don’t know who else to turn to. I need you now, in a way I’ve never needed anyone. I need you to rise up and meet me. To light me up, rip me open. I need you to teach me how to be human. How to have passion. 

How to connect.

I have a broken vagina. It stopped working months ago, well, years ago. Truth be told I’m not 100% certain it got hooked up properly. I need you to repair it. I don’t care what you’ve got to do down there, but make it right.

I know it seems like I’m asking a lot from you, but I don’t know who else to turn to. I don’t know who else to lean on. I’ve known you for so long, and you’ve carried me through so much, I just need you to be here for me now. I need you to tell me I’m beautful, whisper sweet nothings in my ear, dust off my knees when I fall down. I need you to be my steady voice of encouragement when the world just seems like too much.

Because the world seems like too much.

I need you to do this for me. For us. For this. This wild, maddening, gorgeous haze we call life. Because, lover, it’s going to get worse before it gets better. I promise. And I need you.

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