Redneck Troubles and a Sad Separation

I think if I was a redneck the phrase to describe this would be "Well, Hell."


I forgot to finish the poem, I wrote it....then I got mad at it.

So I put it aside and forgot it.

but instead I have this piece of prose I wrote recently.

I call it ( I am making this name up right now)

Letter Writing 101

What is the best way to start a letter? There are several options, I guess. You could use Dear or Hey or if you were feeling a bit adventurous you could even just leave off the introduction entirely. But I think for a letter of quality an introduction is a must have. But then that brings about the question of quality, what kind of letter is it. Is it a letter to the city about how you can’t pay the bill for your new water heater? Or is it perhaps a sincere letter to your grandmother addressing her recent surgery. Or is it a gut wrenching letter that conveys your deepest feelings of love and remorse; which is undoubtedly the hardest thing you have ever had to write in your entire stint of time on this earth?

“My Dearest (CENSORED),” that is the introduction I picked, in the end. I hope it isn’t too old-timey. No, it is perfect, it expresses…something good, I don’t know what though. But it doesn’t matter that I don’t know, it just feels right and as soon as that phrase leaves my pen more phrases are in line to escape from the confusing mess that is my brain. I write pages and pages. In the end I write 28 eloquent pages to (CENSORED) about how much I love her yet, at the same time, hate her. It is terrible, to love someone and to hate that same person. Your mind is torn apart, constantly you are getting mad at the person but then forgiving them as soon as you remember the way they laughed.

Peals of laughter were my food of choice back then. I waited patiently each day for the time I got to see (CENSORED), be it gym class or lunch; my dreams or my nightmares. But regardless of the context there was always laughter. Oh, how I miss that laughter. A joyful chuckle, a harmonious giggle, a delighted squeal, picture if you can, a chorus of one thousand angels all garbed in shining white, with their wings unfurled, basking in the glow of the sun and then simultaneously they open their mouths and out flows music in the form of laughter: Crescendo, Vibrato, Legato, beauty incarnate. (CENSORED)’s laughter sounded nothing like that. I can think of no words that describe her laughter.

Actually, I don’t recall much detail about (CENSORED), at all, it has been so long sense I have seen her. Although I do remember that every time I saw her I lost my breath. She was perfect, and that is all I will say because prefect is…just perfect.

I wrote all of those pages telling her how much I love her, but then scolding her for not loving me back. She always told me she loved me but I know she didn’t. I know she didn’t, she loved me not loved me. You see, there is a fine line between love and love. It is the negative space occupied by an e and an l. “I LOVE YOU” is another whole book compared to “Love you too” or even worse, “And I you.”

So I wrote her this letter, and I told her my feelings.

I told her despite how she completes my life, every day I don’t see her I die. I told her I can’t do well in school because she is the answer to every equation. 2x+ |a+87^1/2|= (CENSORED). I told her my thoughts are a museum to the relics of our friendship. I told her every time I call or every time I text and she doesn’t respond a layer of my being is stripped away and exposed to a harsh reality. I told her I am not a stalker; I told her it is painful to write this letter. I told her I love you. I scrawled it across the last page, all alone, just out in the open. I told her…never to talk to me again.