Slant Tales

I used to have hope, but I gave it away—all of its burdens and complications. Hopelessly lost. Hopelessly in love. Hopelessly hopeless. I don’t want hope back. Unlike love, hope does not offer itself in fragments.

From: sml123@gmail.com
Subject: Unsent
Date: January 14, 2009 5:29:43 PM PST
To:

My life is more complicated than [I let on/it appears]. My life is more complicated than even I am aware. The intricacies of relationships are stitches pulling, permanent. Leaving/Distance stops nothing. The hole in my heart can either/only be filled or enlarged, but I don’t know which happen(s/ed) first. I apologize in advance for all the things I leave unsaid and undone. Time stops nothing. Good riddance is only/merely Good distraction. Fill and enlarge, fill and enlarge. I want all of your parts, everything you’re unwilling to give. I never expect you to love me as much in return.

Everything is exaggerated at first. We throw prediction to the wind. We say things we won’t always mean. We say  things without counting on the memory of the listener. We forget our own limits, our capacity to injure and be injured. We see only our reflections. And images cannot love images. They can only bounce around inside skulls, turning hope tedious.

We don’t fall in love with a person; we fall in love with parts of them–the parts that we ourselves have or want. We don’t fall out of love with a person; we fall out of love with too many of their parts–the parts we want to smother in ourselves. The people we love are breathing, blinking reminders of what we hate about ourselves. We break each other’s hearts because we want to forget.

Desire must always meet with opposition. There has to be something to lack. We wouldn’t know what to do with everything we’ve ever wanted. We can’t stand to be loved more than we are able to love ourselves. There has to be something to lack.

A literature professor I once had told the class, “Every time you see a bird in the text, pay attention.  It means something.”

Now I am constantly looking for birds, or places where birds should be.  I need to be reminded: Pay attention.  This means something.

But the problem with looking for birds is that you might miss other things.  You can end up with an entire book marked with underlined birds, everything else neglected for meaning.  Nothing really matters when one thing matters more.