A letter. A true letter

Dear Claire,

'What' and ‘if’ two words as nonthreatening
as words come. But put
them together side-by-side and they
have the power to haunt you for the
rest of your life: ‘What if?'...

I don't know how your story ended.
But I know that if what you felt
then was love - true love - then
it's never too late. If it was true
then it why wouldn't it be true
now? You need only the courage to
follow your heart...

I don't know what a love like that
feels like... a love to leave loved
ones for, a love to cross oceans
for... but I'd like to believe if I
ever felt it. I'd have the courage
to seize it. I hope you had the
courage to seize it, Claire. And if
you didn't, I hope one day that you
will.

All my love,
Juliet

DKS

I kind of think I want him back. I never stopped loving him.
But that'd probably be a mistake for both of us.
So I'll just sit and watch a sappy movie, cry if the tears come out (they always do) and imagine his hand in mine. His eyes smiling at me. His heartbeat.
DKS, I miss you. But most of all I hate that you get me.
"Nothing we say is gonna save us from the fallout
You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand."

Today as I was driving to meet up with all the re-enactors at Perkins on Kirkwood Hwy I hit a squirrel. I was driving along, 35MPH and out of nowhere jumps this squirrel from the left side of the road. He zigged and zagged and I swerved so that my front didn't hit him. But then I heard a thud, looked in my rear view mirror and saw this gray furry squirrel army crawling to the edge, slowly, agonizingly. My back tire must have hit his back legs. And I'd like to take a moment to comment on the heroic nature of squirrels. Everyday, for some reason these creatures play constant games of extreme Frogger. However, unlike the much loved video game, the stakes are much higher. When they are hit, they crawl with their last ounce of strength. An attempt to push forward. That's what I like about squirrels...they're always going. A mile or two from where I hit the poor squirrel, I saw the carcass of another. Rigor Mortis had already set in and he was lying on his back with his arms in the air. An appeal, a dramatic frozen image of his last breath. I can picture his crawl, to the double yellow line, being unable to move on, rolling over and drawing his last breath, with a cry to heaven. Needless to say, this is what runs through my head as I drive along alone in the car. This isn't at all to say that I have any opinions on the animal soul debate, because I don't. But, I usually attribute human qualities to animals, because I feel like in a basic sense, they live and die the same as us. It's important to examine the world through different eyes and draw from other perspectives than your own.
On another note, today was the Battle of Brandywine reenactment. It was an awesome battle....the cannon fire and musket volleys were exceptional. Mr. Giansanti also tried to sell the girls to a German soldier as the British line over took that of the Continental. When I got out of the car this morning and gazed over the fields of the park we were at, rolling with hills and the tree line dotted with early fall changes, I breathed in deeply the scent of autumn. It was gorgeous (and that word hardly does this scene justice.) It drizzled/fully rained for a lot of the day, but we stole the boy's Regimental wool coats to stay warm and it was nice. We shopped around in the sutlers and became thoroughly disheartened at the prices, but were enjoying ourselves. This reenactment was the biggest one I have been to (soldier wise). There were Native American reenactors painted red all over, a brilliant calvary for both sides that fought with swords, and at least 5 cannons. The smoke rings were so cool!

Thoughts

"I like making images that from a distance seem kind of seductive, colorful, luscious and engaging, and then you realize what you're looking at is something totally opposite. It seems boring to me to pursue the typical idea of beauty, because that is the easiest and the most obvious way to see the world. It's more challenging to look at the other side." -- Cindy Sherman

Tonight I got asked to a school dance. That has never happened before. A guy. That's not creepy. That I am crushing on a little. ASKED ME to homecoming, and on a date.

WHAT???

....

This isn't something I can study for. and that makes me uncomfortable. But excited.

Heart of Darkness

I just pulled a psychoanalytical critique paper for Heart of Darkness out of my butt and now I can write what I want. I made up some argument that I can't even understand about dreams corrupting into nightmares and human nature causing loyalty to them. All of this was based on one line in the novel, " I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice." I hope she doesn't fail me. I tried. haha
I skyped Shannon tonight while my face was covered in black washable marker. I drew a mustache, goatee, lightning bolt scar, and monocle to properly get into the literary critic mode. It didn't work. But! I figured out my calculus problems all by myself so that's exciting. Despite the fact that I am still failing that class.
Oh senior year. Oh Oh Oh (insert fruit of the spirit here.) add sarcasm. sigh.

Dear John's

Dear Dylan,
First of all, I don't want you back. But your cd is still in my laptop and when I'm feeling weak and wanna crawl back to you and all of your shit I listen to it. I cry. I just miss being cared about by a friend that didn't think I was just there to give advice. I miss us. Love, Sam

Dear Mom,
I ask you things in advance so that you will let me do them because harsh as you make think this, it takes you FOREVER to make a decision. It's like the battle inside of you is purely selfish and you can't see how hard I am fighting to break free of my own battles. You trap me more. Stop. Just listen, and have your OWN thoughts. Love always, Sam

Dear John,
Politics are not everything. In fact, being so caught up in them and not acknowledging your own human emotions is detrimental to more than just you. I hate the news now, thanks. Love, Samantha

Dear Robert,
I wish you knew how much I admire you. And that I have in my head this future for you that I know isn't mine to fantasize over. You'll go your own way, but you'll always be the one I want to talk to. We might fight, but I hope you feel like I am someone to confide in. I can't keep your secrets because I keep too many of my own. Love, your other 1/2

Dear Ms. Rahmani-Landis,
How can you be such a good advisor and not realize that your class is the reason I am drowning this year? What happened to English class with free form thinking? -a concerned student.

Dear Ms. Novick,
Shove off. P.S. thanks. -S.

Dear Brittany,
We're a lot alike. You want people to get it. and I want people to get it. Well, I'm here to say that I GET IT. So don't shove me away. You're not alone. Stop making me be alone. Love, Sam

Dear Alicia,
You're not the only person in the world who's ever fallen for a guy. Contrary to what you believe, I've been in love too. It hurts. So don't only appreciate the fact that I am smart, because that's not what I need you to appreciate. Understand that my life story isn't looking for your pity. I love you best friend. <3

Dear JMW,
I love you.
You don't remember that I exist.
Have a good year.
You're going to be brilliant at whatever you do.
Because it bears repetition, I love you.
-Sammy McSamface

Dear Sam,
Stay awake. Remember. Love, you.

Deconstruction Theory

In AP Lit we are talking about literary theories. There is one called deconstruction criticism that basically states, "language can never say what we intend it to mean." In essence, everything in a novel can be deconstructed and taken apart because it is not truly what the author was thinking or feeling, and we can't know that because language is not complete enough to transpose emotion or thought fluently.
Here's what the internet says: "Deconstruction theory embraces the precept that meaning is always uncertain and that it is not the task of the literary critic to illuminate meaning in a given text. Deconstruction itself can be deconstructed, however, and the process goes on indefinitely."
This got me thinking about being a writer. In all reality, we, I, you, can never truly show another person or humanity through text what it is that is in our minds. It is impossible. We can relate ideas that transform psychologically in each person's head differently, but they can never be in our heads. And this started me onto a long thought process of debating the reality of apathy and sympathy and our capacity to comprehend another and in turn give them comfort. We can only comfort from what pain we know in our own minds.

Steady as a preacher
Free as a weed
Couldn't wait to get going
But wasn't quite ready to leave

Hi, you win. I'm sitting here damp eyed because I'm at a loss. Where? When? HOW? Things seem pretty impossible today. And I can't find the answers I seek.

So when you see me cry, remember that I'm not looking to hear a lecture or for you to propose a solution. I just want to be held, or have my back rubbed, and know you're all there. Don't wander.