ur sleeping on the couch

city of stars

dear loudrie.

yes, you, not lavender.

i hope this finds you at an okay time. have you had your pills? done your exercises? if not, you should probably do that now. im writing to you one last time. one last letter, one last time. because this, i think, marks the end. 

we've been through so much together, you and i. there's a bundle of dying flowers in my journals and i dont know how to tell them they can finally let go. i was laying in bed two nights ago when my heart asked for a sit down with my brain. i realized that the thoughts id been having, they'd never have a place in the mind of a lover. and i mulled this over in my head. if i were to try and talk to you about it, all you'd get is bitter red wine. 

they had no place in the mind of a lover and i, luckily, am not a lover any longer. paris almost denied me entrance, actually, had it not been for the way i feel about music and poetry and bitter coffee- and myself. i do not miss you. i miss missing you, though. i do not love you. i loved loving you, though. anyone would agree with me when i say that this is a piece painted in hues of unusual and sentimental colors. 

somehow, when im asked if i think we will ever get together again, i dont have an answer. life has that way of giving us what we want when we least expect it- it also has that way of screwing you over repeatedly until you realize that  maybe you should approach the situation differently. so, will we ever get back together? ask the cosmos. maybe they'll know. maybe they'll see the pair of star crossed lovers we used to be and decide to throw us on a loop. maybe in twenty years ill be at a supermarket and ill bump into you buying ice cream. maybe in twenty years we'll end up at a supermarket buying groceries. life's weird. 

maybe we'll end up in the house we designed with kid and a sphinx cat and honest to god if  that happens im pretty sure like seven hundred people are gonna roll their eyes and groan at us and im so sure that we're gonna be more exasperated than they are. 

maybe we wont, yknow? maybe you'll forget my name and move to amsterdam and play in jazz bands and be happy and buy a bunch of corgis, maybe ill forget what you taste like and move to paris and write novels and be happy and buy a couple cats.

and thats okay. 

(maybe i dont want to be the lover thats always a part of you, maybe you should clean yourself out and let you be you, wholly)

in the end, youre always gonna be my city of stars.  

interpret that however you want to, but im thinking more along the lines of a graveyard of dying starlight. stars shine the brightest before they explode.

(you forget a lot of things but i hope you always remember that i loved you even when you fucked up just as badly as i did- guess i won the i love you more game, huh?)

anyway, so this is it. you've brought me through so much, and without you i doubt i'd have made it to this point in my life. im grateful that i got to experience love for the first time with someone as astral as you. you made me happy, and i can never thank you enough for that.

i dont think im going to stop writing about you, though. theres a difference between writing to you and writing about you. you'll find yourself between letters and heartbeats. 

so, signing off;

sara.

me, not violet.