Dear Anybody, but You

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Copyright © Literature and Culture 2000 Section 1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, visit dearanybodybutyou.com

First ebook edition October, 2021

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Dear Anybody, but You

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Dear Anybody, but You

– Table of Contents – Section 1: Love pg. 9

Section 2: Sadness pg.25

Section 3: Personal Growth pg. 32

Section 4: Family pg. 46 5

To those who had something to say, but couldn’t find the words.

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Dear Anybody, but You

to one i wish i could have given more, but found myself unable in light of a perpetual lack of words to say. even a letter that would have never been sent, sentiments that would never have had to be spoken, where no thought could have been conveyed wrong because each word is simply a confession; truth was unreachable. maybe there’s no right way to say it, or maybe an unwillingness to profess intimacy and heart makes it all wrong. for your sake and my own just the same, this letter should be longer.

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Dear Anybody, but You

Love.

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Dear Anybody, but You

I could write pages and pages about how much you've hurt me. How much pain you've caused me. How much time I wasted on you. But at the end of the day, that would all be a lie… at the end of the day, it wasn't you, it was me.

It wasn’t you who led me on those 18 months, it was me. I led myself on with the idea of you, an idea so far from who you are. The idea that one day you would come around-that one day you would say you loved me and everything would finally be okay. I led myself on with the idea that deep down you cared. You just weren't ready, or maybe didn't know how to show it. But those ideas were lies; lies I clung to in hope of an outcome different from the one I was experiencing. Nothing you did spurred these reckless thoughts.

You didn't lead me on; you were nothing but clear and honest with me. It wasn't your fault things didn't work out. It wasn't your fault I was so upset. You didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes I wish you had, but you didn't. I guess it was just the fact that I couldn’t handle rejection or the fact that I was so desperately addicted to the feeling I had when I was around you.

I know if someone asked you about the situation, you would probably just shrug and say something about how it was a little thing that happened a long time ago, because for you that's exactly what it was.

I don’t think I’ll ever know why you meant so much to me, or why the idea of you was so infatuating to me. I guess that’s just one of the painful characteristics of life.

Most questions regarding the condition of the soul seem to be left unanswered.

I wish that I could say that in time I’ll stop looking for your face in a crowd, that I’ll stop getting the nauseating feeling some optimists call “butterflies” at the sound of your voice, that I’ll stop hoping for you to in any way acknowledge my existence.

But to say that would be a lie, and I’m trying to break the habit of lying to myself.

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Dear Anybody, but You

E, Thank you for showing me that I should never settle for less than what I deserve.

Thank you for teaching me that I should always fully trust someone before allowing them to know the deepest parts of me.

Thank you for all the little gifts that you gave me.

Thank you for all the laughs and smiles.

Thank you for showing me that people can change, but not always for the better.

Thank you for your stabbing words and the pain that you caused me.

Thank you so much for giving me a reason to let you go, because I now know what honest love feels like; what it feels like to be adored, what it's like to have a healthy relationship and to get back what I give.

He is everything that you couldn't be, and for that I say thank you, and I forgive you.

R

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Dear Anybody, but You

To May, Supposing. That is the word that comes to mind. Supposing you were here right now. What empty words would fill the air between us? Would you look me in the eye? And if you did, how long could you hold my gaze? How long would I be able to stare into your ocean and not begin to drown? You always had that way with you. The way your eyes could pull me in. They weren't blue the way those other beautiful blue eyes are. Others eyes would resemble the sky. The type of blue that reminded you of a summer day. But not yours. No, yours were deep. Like a sheet of navy canvas. Like the Rockies that look purple from afar. And magnificent. Royal. I said it already and I always told you, but they really were the ocean. They were my ocean. I didn't mind losing my breath if it meant swimming in them for a few hours past 12. Would I mention them if I had the chance to tell you one more time? To tell you how mesmerizing they were? How they ravished my heart? Even after all this time and all this pain, would I tell you?

Supposing we held on longer... What song would we be dancing to? What names would I be calling you?

I liked it when you called me Jay. I hated it when anyone else did. Remember when we'd go to bed and you'd ask me to meet you on the moon? You'd tell me to bring my dancing shoes... Do you ever dream of when we danced? I do. I remember throwing you in winding circles while you cackled and grinned and twirled in my control. You always loved that. You always loved it when I dipped you as low as I could.

I remember holding you. Holding you softly as we swayed to smooth piano, always trying to get you a little bit closer to my body... even though our chests touched, and your head already rested heavy on my shoulder. I remember living in those moments and wishing the world would just stop spinning. We would dance in your kitchen while your family slept. You would always be so sleepy, and I didn't mind when you almost fell asleep in my arms. In that kitchen... The kitchen where we made banana pancakes every Saturday morning. The kitchen where your dad taught me how to make a pour-over coffee. The image of your feet swaying across its tile floor while I held you in my arms is frozen in my mind. I miss that kitchen... I miss dancing with you.

Supposing I had never told you. I'm sorry I hurt you, May... If only I had communicated my heart for you even just a little bit better. If only you knew my love for you was deeper than the ocean that swelled in your eyes. If only you knew... If only you knew... If only you didn't know... If only you didn't know what I had done. If I hadn't told you how my flesh would beat me numb and taint the love I had tried to give you purely. I only told you because I loved you. I thought that we could get through it together. I had sought help and had true plans to overcome this. With you. Without you. It didn't matter, if only you knew I was determined. I had told you only weeks before that I wanted to marry you. I didn't propose, no. Marriage was something we never talked about because we never wanted to miss the moment we were living in. But we both knew time was catching up to us, and the need to be practical overruled the Eros that told us our love was ever-present.

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Dear Anybody, but You

When we had this moment of realization, I sat on it for a few days. I wanted to marry you. I called you.

We talked for hours, sharing our day minute by minute. I remember it got quiet. We could sit on the phone in silence for hours. Just the thought that you were on the other end of that line. Under the same sky. "May... I think I want to marry you." You paused as the tide in your eyes turned to real water. We cried together. You wanted to, too. The world did stop spinning. We knew we had work to do. We had things to think of and a future to plan that we hadn't started thinking about yet, but the truth was out and we wanted to do this for life. Even if we didn't know how. When the thought became a real dream, we wanted to do it right. And doing it right meant confronting my demons. So I did. I did, but it was too much for you. Our hearts were shattered and the pieces blended on the tile floor we danced upon.

Supposing I had never told you.

Supposing our love was enough...

Supposing you were here, we held on longer...

Supposing our love was still alive.

So now I offer, if you want to dance with me one more time. Close your eyes. Come back to that kitchen.

"Supposing" by Infinity Ripple will play softly in the background. Fall asleep in my arms. Meet me on the moon. Let's dance one more time.

Love, Jay

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Dear Anybody, but You

I don’t know what’s worse: The first initial heart drop when I see your car at a red light, or right after when I realize she is in the passenger seat where I used to sit.

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Dear Anybody, but You

There are thousands of things I want to say to you, but all you need from me is silence. Every ounce of my pain is conveyed to you in the following short paragraphs. Pain that I know may rival yours. Below is what I wanted to say, what I needed to say, but all that dripped off my tongue was “goodbye.” I will never be able to muster the strength, or selfishness, to send you this letter, so I write to the anonymous.

To my best friend, I have no correct words to describe the way I feel right now. Mostly sadness, with some anger and sprinkled happiness, because even when I was bawling my eyes out listening to how you felt about me, you still managed to make me laugh. Even with all-consuming guilt, fear, and pain threatening to strangle me, you placed a smile on my lips for a brief moment. I feel I have let go of the most amazing person to walk into my life; my deepest fear of losing you has been realized. I’m angry at how unfair this is. I agree-I wish we felt the same, just so this didn’t have to happen or end like this.

I keep trying to say something to comfort you or explain myself, but every word does an injustice to how I feel and what I’m thinking. So, here are some of my unfiltered thoughts: -

I promise you, with everything I am, that I didn’t mean to hurt you.

When I told you I want to love you the way you want me to, I meant it, but I am incapable.

You mean more to me than you will ever understand, which is why it ripped my heart out having to let you go. But that’s also why I had to do it.

I want you to be happy above all else. Being around me isn’t helping in the long run, so my hand lets go of the rope.

I have never experienced pain like this… Loving and knowing someone so deeply, yet not experiencing the same love that they felt for me. Wanting so badly to experience that same love but falling short. If I could take all your pain away, I would do it in the blink of an eye. If I could be the only one hurt in this situation, I would. Unfortunately, that’s not how this story goes, and for that I couldn’t be more sorry. I hope a spark will one day light inside of me, leading me back to you. If that isn’t how our story goes, I hope you will come back to me, maybe just as a friend. I hope that I will never look at you across the room and see a stranger. I hope that me giving you space was the right decision, because it was one of the hardest ones I have ever had to make.

If I’m not the one for you, and you’re not the one for me, then I hope to one day be loved again the way that you have loved me. I hope to one day be blessed enough to have someone think about me the way that you have thought about me. Most importantly, I hope that someone will love you as deeply as you love them, because that is exactly what you deserve.

Please don’t ever leave me, I don’t think I could handle that. I miss you already. I know this isn’t goodbye. It can’t be; I won’t let it be. But for now, I will talk to you later.

Love you, always

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Dear Anybody, but You

I am utterly terrified.

I no longer spend a single moment without you, even when you’re miles away.

I look for you in every room I walk into. When you are there, even in a crowd of people, you are the only one I see.

Not a single thought inhabits my mind without your name riddling its existence-I even fall asleep replaying the moments of us in my head. I never knew a feeling like this existed.

The mixture of pure joy I feel when I think of you, the sharp pain of thinking I will inevitably lose you, the painful reality that I will never be strong enough to utter the words that my mind has heard a thousand times attached to your name.

Every song I listen to is about you; every post I see, every story I read.

When I’m with you it feels like time stops. Talking to you is the moment when you are driving in the rain and you pass under a bridge and for a moment there is silence in the storm.

Whatever souls are made of, yours and mine are the same. I have never been with someone who I could truly call my better half. You are my calm when I am a storm, my rock when I sway like the ocean.

I hope you know how much you mean to me, but how could you? I can’t get the courage to tell you. You are the best thing I ever waited for. The unexpected whirlwind of passion and steady love.

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Dear Anybody, but You

When we are old and gray I will regret not telling you sooner, but for now, I will just continue as is.

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Dear Anybody, but You

Sadness.

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Dear Anybody, but You

Grandpa,

I feel like everyone says this, but I wish I would have known how short our time together was. No matter how much time goes by, it still feels weird that you are no longer in my life.

Every occasion is hard to get through because it’s so different from how it used to be. At the time, I felt like it was impossible for things to change ever so drastically. Now, I dread upcoming events and try to focus on something else. I wish more than anything I could introduce you to the new people in my life. I wish I could ask you for advice. I wish I could share the new moments in my life with you. Most of all, I hope you are proud of me. My biggest regret in life is taking our time together for granted.

I miss you everyday, A

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Dear Anybody, but You

It's been two years and I still cannot pinpoint the exact moment that we both decided to end our friendship.

It keeps me up at night sometimes.

Was there something I could have done differently? In another life, where we both had the drive to keep up with one another, would we still be close like we were?

We never talked about it. We never fought for it. It just was what it was, and in an instant, it was over.

You still pass through my mind at least once a day. I don't know if that’s weird to say, but that’s just the truth. You’re like a cheesy commercial tune that I can't get out of my head.

The memories I used to look back on with fondness, now shrouded by the blue tint of what was and what could have been.

The brief texts shared since then remain just above the surface, sharing simple things like we hadn’t just lost something so important as a friendship. At least something so important to me.

I will always support you, and watch you from the sidelines as you live out the life you always told me you wanted.

But most of all, I will always be grateful for the friendship we shared. I wouldn't trade our memories for anything.

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Dear Anybody, but You

The part that bothers me the most is your lack of perspective.

If only you knew. You have no idea what it is like. You really have no clue how the world works. Ever try looking at the bigger picture? I think it is your immaturity. Your immaturity makes you focus on the tiniest, pettiest, most trivial matters. Maybe one day you will realize. Will you? Will you ever realize? I can only hope. I know we are so different. I am not like you; I was never like you. And I suppose it is wrong for me to think you will ever be like me. We just see things so differently. It makes it really difficult to understand each other. I feel like you just walk through life with your blinders on, oblivious and stubborn to everything going on around you. How did you become so stubborn? I do not think I have ever met anyone as stubborn as you. That is a significant part of the problem. Your immaturity and stubbornness create a lack of perspective. If only you could see things the way I do. Maybe then we would get along. I wish you possessed the willingness to try to see a different perspective. This is the source of my anger. I no longer want to deal with it, because I know there’s nothing I can say or do that will change you. It is just an endless, hopeless cycle.

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Dear Anybody, but You

Dear Anybody, but You

Dear Miss ____, I'm going to tell you something that you'll forget. Maybe that makes it easier.

I only knew you for a short while, maybe a month or two. You probably don't remember me, but I do. I was the one who sat beside you while you wondered why the bed didn't feel like your own. I was the one who pretended to host an event at your winery so you could rest assured everything was alright. I was the one who baked you midnight snacks when you couldn't sleep. I was the one who said "I love you" when you were crying for your family.

I was a stranger you never knew, and you were a piece of my heart.

Then I went on a trip. I thought about you for two months, praying your nights would be spent sleeping.

When I got back, I learned you had left our house. I learned you had begun scratching. They said your nails tore the skin near your left hand. The wound darkened and a rash appeared across your body. I learned your hand became infected and I learned a doctor sawed it off.

Now I wonder if instead of waking up yelling "where am I", you scream "where's my hand"! I imagine you examining your stump and exclaiming "it was here just yesterday"!

There's a comedy in it, isn't there? Isn't tragedy comedy? Life is tragic. Maybe my loving you is tragic.

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Dear Anybody, but You

Dear Paramina, Last month, I watched the Taliban take over Kabul. After 20 years of freedom in Afghanistan, at the expense of American lives, your country is now in the hands of our enemies. I remember when I met you in 2006 in Khost Province in the southern sector of Afghanistan. You were a student at the girls school we visited to deliver school supplies. You, no more than eight or nine and I only 27 years old, out on my first mission at war as an Army photojournalist. I remember you were mesmerized by the camera in my hands, pointing at it, calling it by it’s Pashto name, and I was showing you the photos I took of you that day. From there you pointed at other things, told me their name in your language, demanded I tell you what they were in mine. Watch, school, flower, girl, truck, gun.

You stayed by my side for hours, held my hand, like I was the hope you didn’t want to let go of--and you were the hope I didn’t want to let go of, either. It was a hope that Afghan girls just like you would continue their education, to taste freedom in all the ways that you will not be able to now. I fear for you, Paramina, I fear for any daughters you may bear.

The days of girls schools in Afghanistan are terminated. Today, girls over 12 are not allowed education. Women must cover their entire bodies and remain accompanied by a man even if they are taking only a few steps outside of their homes. Unwed women are forced into marriages with Taliban fighters and used as incentive for other fighters to join. Women’s rights have been obliterated in your country, Paramina.

I pray that you are safe. I pray that you grew up strong and happy. I pray that you can still be happy... You and that day are always in my heart. Be brave and don’t give up. The times will change. You and I must believe that.

With Love, SPC Robinson

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Dear Anybody, but You

Personal Growth.

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Dear Anybody, but You

Dear me,

Remember this moment.

I feel like I just drank a whole pitcher of strawberry lemonade. With a straw of course, to keep out the chunks. Sunkissed from sun rays, refreshed by strawberry fields, awakened and revived from the tang of lemons, yet satisfied by the sweet sugar that blends the drink so well.

The pleasant feeling of butterflies in my stomach and ladybug kisses on my cheeks is consistent, yet not overwhelming. I fear that it may start to become comfortable--no longer special, no longer noticeable--so I embrace the feeling when I realize its peaceful consumption. I notice how the fresh breeze through my open window tickles my legs with goosebumps and pinches my cheeks with the San Diego version of cold.

The curls that frame my face and my poor feet--blackened with residue and blistered from being barefoot in my backyard, on the boardwalk, at the beach, in the grass, and on the hardwood floors that never seem to stay clean--remind me of what I must’ve been like as a child. I think of it as a time so distant, despite the fact that I feel myself trying my hardest to not act as anything less than an “adult.” I guess that uncovers the reality that my instinctual desires are to be like a child, free to be barefoot with messy curls. Free to jump in the ocean on a day I already washed my hair. Free to let my body be covered in sand, because the freedom of playing away from the beach towel is worth the minor inconvenience of a sandy suit that can be quickly mended with a shower. Free to watch Peter Pan on a Monday afternoon instead of reading a book about being a better person.

Free to pick flowers and brainstorm how they would best decorate a fairy house. Free to be optimistic. Free to live in this blissful fantasy.

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Dear Anybody, but You

The leafy green plants that corner my sage green walls, the room of a stranger’s house that has become my sanctuary within a friend’s home. My window without a screen, open to noises of cars that are somehow not distracting from the beauty of the outdoor hanging lights that cover the weathered backyard--the one that houses the old Mercedes, the rabbit who died too soon, an abundance of birds of paradise, a daily project (which just so happens to be a floor for a bed this evening), Bo, and his lovely music.

Lovely describes it all quite well. It’s a term Bo uses in every casual conversation.

Although it seems somewhat out of place for a 20-year-old, male, college student to be saying in the year 2021, it reveals his beautiful perspective on life. Because lovely is so much more delicious than nice, cool, good, awesome, amazing, etc. etc. And it somehow describes how perfectly imperfect life fits together. It’s peaceful. It’s a juicy word. It evokes a feeling. It’s quite lovely.

Remembering us the way we were, E

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Dear Anybody, but You

My Dearest Brain, Can you start working correctly? I'm getting pretty tired of this. I've given you the medication and skills to do so. I'm pulling my weight--please start pulling yours.

Brain, you really do so much for me. I'm grateful, but can you tell the chemical imbalance to figure it out? You're making me feel like a burden. I can't function like this anymore.

I'm working on being kinder to you. They tell me that self compassion is key. But it's harder when you don’t want to comply.

I'm trying my best. I really am. So, you start trying, too.

Love, Mind

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Dear Anybody, but You

Dear Anxiety,

You had me wrapped around your finger for so long. Too long. I still remember what it feels like to have my heart race so fast I couldn’t speak or think clearly. I still know the feeling of being so consumed in my thoughts that I struggled to get out of bed. I remember all the nights where I would wake up jolting and then lie there, suddenly wide awake. You convinced me I wasn’t any good at my hobbies. You told me I wasn’t a good friend. You made me question my career path.

You held me back in every single one of my relationships. I listened to you for a long time.

Anxiety, I want to make this clear to you. You have no right to dwell in my existence anymore. I will admit that sometimes you creep back and catch me off guard, but from this moment forward, I am not going to let you control my life. Your “What if…” questions don’t scare me anymore. You’ve been dethroned from my shoulder and will no longer influence my decisions. I will not let you convince me that isolation is a safe space. I will not let you hold any power in my mind, nor influence the way I live.

But for what it’s worth, I do want to say thanks. Thank you for making me realize my worth.

Thank you for breaking me down so I could learn to be tough. Thank you for making me question myself so I could realize who I am. I know that this letter weakens you. I know you don’t like what you’re hearing. But if I continue to speak this into existence, then maybe one day you will disappear from my life for good.

Good Riddance, Every person who has struggled with anxiety

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Dear Anybody, but You

Dearest, You are a man who has everything--always with a few exceptions of course--but for the most part, your conceited little heart has its basic desires met. A girlfriend. A family, with two married parents and siblings. A dog, clothes, water, food, shelter, friends. Popularity, creativity, intellect, drive, talent, passion, poise, power.

You are a white male, unconscious to the surrounding abuse and aggression that others face, content with the perfect un-strenuous bubble that you live in.

You are a Christian, or at least claim to be, because you are pretty sure that there is more that you could be doing, besides taking what you already do and putting a “Jesus” twist on it. You feel like you are doing the world a great service. So even when you hurt, curse, sin, and stab, you find no real anxiety in yourself because you wear a suit on Sundays and raise your hands to the sky.

You always leave right after the service. Claiming some important event to the friends around you, although you see yourself sitting at home on the couch only an hour later.

You fill your free time sitting in front of your screen, scrolling and watching away. When others reach out for intimacy or connection you can pretend to be doing your arduous work that has taken up your long and tiresome day.

You drink too much coffee. You drive too fast. You are impatient, yet implore others to be patient with you. You take too many bathroom breaks, only to sit on your phone with the stall door locked so you can vape for the next x-amount of minutes. You are always tired.

Always bored. You have projects and aspirations that you wish to do, but as soon as you get home your head and body seems to slip back onto the couch, onto the very spot where you left it this morning.

You don’t cry anymore. You don’t make jokes. You smile but it hurts. You lust, you sin.

You ponder. You procrastinate. You try, sometimes, only to find it too exhausting the next time around. You skip meals. You overeat. You wake up early and run, only to sleep in the next couple of days. You cough, you spit, you drink, you masturbate, you shower, you take a shit. You are a life-sucking human who doesn’t see that everything he has is a usufruct.

You power rich bastard.

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Dear Anybody, but You

Every night seems to slip past, and you wonder how it became so late every time. You wake up and every morning seems to lapse into eternity. Cycling on the haunted train ride until your eyes can no longer stretch and bulge, like brains splattered on hot tar. Your dreams and thoughts, the voices of YouTube videos that you watch on repeat. You ignore calls. You lie. You cheat. You steal. But of course you don’t call it that because you find yourself justifying your needs to fit the cookie jar into which you just dipped. You resent.

You hate, you lie, you lie, you lie. You’re mad, you’re angry, you overthink and judge, as if anyone or anything watching would not judge you. Because you have everything. You are perfect.

No, not perfect. That would be heresy, you know that. You are nearly perfect.

When your friends ask you how you are, you say good. You know that you are not. But how would they know? You are a perfectly ripe apple skin, with maggots and worms eating out your core. Hanging tauntingly above Eve’s barren, naked chest. You are deteriorating.

You are aware. So you write this all down while you sit at your table and wonder why your hands and body feel so heavy. Too heavy to reach the sunshine from outside your window. Always outside, never inside. It is impossible for you to go out. So you go out at night, like Count Dracula’s squeeze, and drink. You drink until your kidneys hurt and your heart pounds, so much so that you can’t possibly be on your phone. You want to throw that piece of trash away and never talk to anyone again. You want to escape, you want help. You need help.

Yet you have everything. You are a man who has everything, always with a few exceptions of course. But for the most part, your conceited little heart has its basic desires met.

You do nothing.

Sincerely, Jericho Caspian Savant P.S. Here is a verse from Matthew that I think you may enjoy -- “Come unto to me all who are weary and burdened [and depressed]” Although I added the depressed part, I think you may find it relates to you more. Please, my dearest, relate to it more.

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Dear Anybody, but You

Hey you.

I hate what you did to me . . . but I forgive you. You didn't know the best way to go about things. I shouldn't have expected you to know everything--you were only twenty-two. Now I’ve reached that age; I realize it doesn't contain as much wisdom as expected. I don't know if you were my first love, but you were my first heartbreak. You made me feel things I didn't know I was capable of experiencing. I never knew so much water could fall from my eyes, accompanied by pounding headaches, frail limbs, endless emptiness, and false hope. I hate you, but I forgive you (even though you'll never feel sorry).

Some days, I wish I could do it all over. What I would give to experience those first months again with you. Life was seemingly perfect; I thought I had landed on the one. I miss how you used to be. I miss when you treated me with respect, with patience, even with love. I'm not sure when you lost the “spark” that held us together--I was too in awe of you to notice. Infatuation is a terrible thing.

Some days, I'm glad it's all over. I learned a lot from you. But I grew up, and now because of you, I’m a healthier and stronger person. You taught me exactly how I don't want to be treated. From your immaturity, I learned that I shouldn't be pleading and apologizing just to win someone over. I deserve better than that . . . everyone does.

I wish it weren't true, but I still think of you. Whenever I look ahead, somehow you're there with me. Whenever I think of my imminent future, your face appears.

But it's the old you. The you that loved me, respected me . . . wanted me. The you that I wish I could get back. The you that no longer exists. The person I thought you were and would remain.

How am I supposed to mourn someone who isn't dead? Who just changed and moved on? And left me behind?

I really hope you're doing better. I hope you don't think of me as often as I think of you. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even you.

Love, Me

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Dear Anybody, but You

Dear future, You are so incredibly scary. I don’t ever want to meet you, but I will be forced to eventually. When I think of you, you appear as a massive, looming shadow ready to suck all joy out of my life. I’m not ready for life after college. Leaving the familiar and safe atmosphere I have created for myself here fills me with dread. I don’t want to leave my friends or this place, but eventually I will have to. The thought that I might never see some of them again or that we will eventually stop talking horrifies me. I am terrified of getting a job and living the same day over and over for the rest of my life, just getting by. I don’t want to wake up one day, wondering where it all went wrong. I want to be happy and have fun and be with my friends. I am not ready to face you, future, but one day I will have to regardless if I’m ready or not.

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Dear Anybody, but You

Every day your voice runs me down, seems unreal, the physicality of those words that run me through. A blistering shadow of criticism abides over me and I can’t escape the truth of our relationship. Your words have finally left my mind--it’s this distance that I need and I’m doing well enough.

I’m glad I’ve had this opportunity to leave that place, always trapped on the last legs of Fall. Everything feels ugly and dismal till the light breaks through. I am so endowed with such a heavy-handed desire for escapism, yet I can’t seem to get far enough away from everything about you.

It pains me to know you think your truth is some infallible, righteous intellect far greater than all else. I’m still learning; everyday the gaps in your words widen further. It pains me to be perpetually painted the villain, while you again play the victim.

“You used to be so full of life.” I’m sorry I couldn’t control the death of those who were so dear to me; that I couldn’t comprehend my pain at a young age. It never became easier. Every day, even now, I surround myself with life and plays of green are the scenes I treasure.

“You used to be so cheerful.” Have you seen me away from that place? In the company of my friends I keep close? Closer than you? Do you understand where I am? My effort beset with constant pain and fits?

I once caught myself saying what I could never say to your face.

I love her, and I’m long past trying to explain myself in conversations that never let me speak. I’m done with the fickle intimacy that plagues the space between us--so much of your callow responsibility that makes each day a distance I can’t run back.

I’m ready to move past this, I think a rose is all we had in common.

55

Dear Anybody, but You

Dear you, Where did you go? That light in your eye that used to shine so bright has become so dim as of late, hasn’t it?

Does your heart still sink to the bottom of your chest twice a day, and leave you cold? Do your eyes still water until you look away, shielding your hurt from the world? Are you weary?

Are you lonely?

You really don’t have to tell me; I already know.

I already know that your bed is both a comfort and a prison, locking you in with it’s warm embrace but leaving you incapacitated.

I already know about that dark cloud that trails behind you, never letting the light touch your skin through it’s constant downpour.

I already know how your brain speaks to you, and all the lies she whispers until you believe it yourself, and how the tremors in your fingers come and go because of it.

I already know it because it has happened to me, too.

I already know it because I am you.

I cannot promise you that it gets any better. Our life is a rollercoaster of ups and downs, but we don’t allow ourselves to scream. The silence is deafening, but we’re the only ones who hear it.

There are good times, too, though. There are late night talks with friends, and simple hobbies that can create beauty. We may not have it all figured out, but our time is not yet up. Lean on others, you don’t have to keep your hurt to yourself.

Life can be just as beautiful as it can be scary. Focus on the beauty.

We’re going to be okay.

57

Dear Anybody, but You

Hey, I think the distance between two coasts has adequately separated us. Even so, it's fair to say that I think of you as a friend still, in a different path of life.

It’s comforting to see pictures of you and yours always captured in a state of laughter and cheer. Thinking back on our friendship, I never doubted your ability to find your own way, create your own family of strange blood.

Your birthday was this past week. I didn’t say much of anything but I was glad for it, unlike the hundreds of others that whistle past. You speak in words I can't quite understand, phrases that are foreign to me, a walk that eludes me. It’s more strange to me, and I'm not sure of you.

I feel as though, through the many friends and states I’ve come across, I don’t think of any from such an earlier life other than you. By chance of childish nature, I would call you a first friend, and I look forward to catching up one of these days.

59

Dear Anybody, but You

Dear me, Hey kid, how are you doing? You’ve made some pretty big mistakes haven’t you. Looking back, I still can’t believe some of the choices you made. Out of all of the dumb things that you did, there are a few that stand out. I think that you know deep down that they were huge mistakes, even if in the moment we suppressed them. But if I could go back in time, there isn’t really anything I would change. All of those mistakes, bumps in the road, they led you to where I am today. And today, I’m in a good place. So don’t dwell on the mistakes too much. Take them in as experience, learn from them, and it’ll all work out in the end. Life has had a way of throwing us in the mud, but we’ve always gotten through it. No matter how many times we mess up, and I still mess up, we’re just gonna keep growing.

61

Dear Anybody, but You

Family.

63

Dear Anybody, but You

Sunflower, You make my heart sing.

I always imagined that I would teach you about life, but I am thankful everyday that you share new joys of this world that I never knew existed.

I can’t imagine what my life would be without your shining light.

Never stop looking up to the sky.

Never stop standing tall.

Never stop fueling your fiery soul.

Thank you for reminding me to never stop growing.

Love, Mom

65

Dear Anybody, but You

Dear Anybody, but You

Dear Mom, I don’t know how to talk to you anymore.

You dwell on who I was as a child so much that it makes me feel as though you don’t like the person that I’ve grown into today. Maybe it’s because when I was a child, I didn’t have my own voice. My opinions didn’t deviate from yours. I was a carbon copy of you; if not in looks, then in beliefs.

It was no secret that I had always been a “Daddy’s Girl.”

You would never let me forget it. You would fish for validation, telling me “you like your dad better than me,” and “I know you wouldn’t treat your father the way you treat me”.

The more I had to fight to prove my love for you, the more I grew to resent you. Who puts their child in a situation where they have to constantly struggle to prove their affection for you?

No longer do we agree on politics, or religion, or even basic morals. No longer do we enjoy the same pastimes.

No longer can we hold conversations that go deeper than the surface.

I am my own person now. And I will always love you.

But you need to let go of that little girl, because that is not who I am anymore.

67

Dear Anybody, but You

mom, It’s funny how often I run into you, although you haven’t been here for nearly seventeen years. I saw you today, actually, when I was returning from the hospital. My phone had died and I didn’t know how to get home without directions. My car croaked and complained as I turned aimlessly onto different streets without caring that I might never return home, because I had found you. I remembered that dad confessed once that you too were terrible with directions. The sky was painted into what I imagine to be your favorite colors and then eventually faded to black as I finally found my way home.

My home is a white house by the beach that I wish you were familiar with. It's usually overrun by a combination of people and flies and baked goods and clothes piled up that need to be washed, but it has a lemon tree. I don’t mind the sand in my chapstick and headphones or the sensation of my skin burning to the touch, yet chilled as I climb into bed, and I know you wouldn’t mind these things either. Beside my bed I have a photo of you, and your skin looks warm too. I don’t return to our home much, but whenever I do, dad sees you too. I can tell he recognizes you; his piercing blue eyes suddenly dim--the fear, the memories, the lost love--all flooding back when he glances at me through a window or when I laugh from deep within.

Sometimes I see you when I drink too much wine, as my mind becomes uncensored and I think deeper and more foolishly than I already do. I somehow manage to find you when I kiss boys, because your friends with permed hair sitting beside you in photos tell me stories of what you were like when you were my age. But you should know that they don’t have perms anymore, and occasionally when they look at me their eyes glaze over in the same way dad’s do. I long to see what causes this cloudy gray in the eyes of the ones that I love, for it has taken over our family. Grandpa’s eyes hurt this way too, even more now that he’s aged. In fact, every year when they sing happy birthday to me, he says your name instead of mine.

68

Dear Anybody, but You

I’ve spent the last seventeen years searching for what those who were closest to you see in me, what gives them this hurt in their eyes.

Seventeen years of celebrations and failed tests and days of laughter and many, many mistakes. Oh mom, there have been so many mistakes.

It’s in these times that I can never find you, but then I begin to wonder instead if you can see me. Do you see me weep in the shower or in my car or when I scream at God? Can you see those that I have hurt, the hearts that I have broken? Did you see when that boy stole a piece of me or every time that I have made myself sick at a party? Do you see me? Are you proud? There’s this hole, this emptiness that has made itself a home deep inside of me that I will never be able to fill. This you cannot see, no one can. I have failed to satiate this part of me time and time again, and I fear that all of my desperate attempts at satisfaction are what everyone else can see, and perhaps this is what makes the life leave their eyes.

It’s funny how often I run into you, seeing you within everything but myself.

69

Dear Anybody, but You

Dad, I don’t resent you.

I just want to know why you treated me the way you did while I was growing up. I try so hard to be an empathetic person and give people the benefit of the doubt for their malicious actions, but I just don’t understand your behavior. Looking back on the worst memories of growing up, I couldn’t confidently say you loved me.

But I know you love me now. We’ve finally reconciled, but the wounds of the past still often sting. Despite it all, I still love you so, so much. I’ve always wanted a relationship with you and I finally am getting a taste of that now. You and I aren’t all that different, which is mind-boggling to me. I can’t wait to share more experiences, ride motorcycles, and just talk man-to-man.

I love you, Dad Your Son

71

Dear Anybody, but You

Dear Grandma, The last time I saw you, you were bundled up in your bed, covered from head to toe with blankets, a sweater, and a beanie. Las Vegas in December can be cool at times, but you had always liked the heat. I had to watch you from the doorway, interacting with our family in the limited ways that you could. I was sick at the time, and didn’t want to risk passing anything off to you, so at the doorway I remained.

I’m never going to forget your voice calling out for me to come closer. I smiled at you and told you I couldn’t, but that I loved you. The dementia that had corrupted your mind for as long as I could remember had prevented you from understanding, and you called out to me again. But I couldn’t come.

73

Dear Anybody, but You

And it killed me because I knew we had come all that way to say goodbye to you.

You passed away a month after we had come to visit. I would have given anything to not have been sick, and to have had the chance to hug and kiss you one last time.

To tell you I love you to your face, and not from 10 feet away.

I feel so lucky to have been given the opportunity to spend so much time with you before your health declined. I miss the stories you would tell me over and over again, and seeing you after school everyday. But most of all, I miss you. I will always love you.

Love, Your Great-Granddaughter

74

Dear Anybody, but You

Dear Genevieve, We have been friends since we were five-years-old. We danced, played, sang, clung to each other. At seven-years-old we started second grade. We played with dolls and made up dances to perform for our parents. Four years later we went to middle school. We started liking boys, went through our awkward chubby phases, and got our first phones. High school came and we had boyfriends, had our first kiss on the same day, we went to our school's football games, and became friends with each other. Then you went to another school. A school that didn’t accept the life we were used to.

It changed the person you so confidently were. You stepped away from lifelong faith, morals, and dreams. You didn’t want someone to hold you accountable for your actions. What I thought were the most important relationships to you quickly became fractured.

Now I am in college and we haven’t spoken a word in three years. But I don’t need you as a best friend. I just hope one day you can dance, play, and sing with joy like we used to. I hope when I see you again, this wall that you’ve put up to block everything out--every person that tries to know you, every uncomfortable emotion, every insecurity, every attempt at love—-has crashed down. My prayer for you is that your heart would seek to be known, you’d surround yourself with those who care about your uncomfortable emotions, that you’d sit in your insecurities and let God into them, and let others love you for YOU. From, E 77

Dear Anybody, but You

Pop, After all these years, our relationship has taken turns. We’ve spread apart, we’ve come closer.

Together, we’ve laughed; alone, I’ve cried; you yourself have yelled--but through it all, we are still family.

When I was younger, I didn’t understand all of the things that you did for me. All of the effort that you poured into me. The days you would get up at 4 am, go to work, come back at 5pm, take me to practice, coach for an hour and a half, go home to make dinner. The food was always amazing. When you were “resting your eyes” while we were watching TV, we always poked fun at you. Every day we’d repeat.

I have no idea how you were able to go through that day after day. Looking back at your work ethic, I aspire to be just like you--to have the ability to put in the work, but still come home, put on a great smile, yet still be an amazing father.

There is no one like you. Thank you for everything; I only hope that we become closer as the years go on, even if I don’t see you everyday.

Thank you, I love you.

79

Dear Anybody, but You

Dear Mom and Dad, I don’t think I ever thanked you for losing that spark you once held for each other.

It’s probably an odd thing for a child to feel about their parents divorce, but I was so young when it happened that all I remember is the end.

Hearing your hushed arguments when walking past your room late at night on my way to the bathroom. That lit-candle that had been knocked over and lay sitting in a pool of hardening wax. The boys and I sitting together in their room when you both left after one messy night.

I don’t miss it. I don’t wish you guys would have tried to work it out. There was no fixing what had been broken, or mending the damage that had already been done.

But because of your divorce, I have grown closer with my brothers. At a time when all my sense of consistency had been shattered, we had each other. And now, I consider them some of my best friends.

Because of your divorce, I saw you both go on to find new relationships, with people who genuinely make you happy. These relationships brought me 7 new step-siblings; all of whom I adore.

81

Dear Anybody, but You

Because of your divorce, I found some of my friendships deepening through our shared experiences of parents no longer being together.

These bonds still run strong today and are relationships I cherish immensely.

Not every moment has been joyful since, but those are the ones I choose to remember. I am still healing from the unfolding of your marriage. My views on marriage and relationships have been tainted because of it, and I don’t know if I will ever be able to perceive them as I once did.

But your courage to end something no longer bringing you joy, no matter how secure or familiar it felt, is something I have learned to appreciate.

You allowed the boys and me an opportunity to grow up in environments free from your issues that we were all too young to understand, and I thank you for that.

But most of all, thank you for allowing yourselves a chance at happiness. I love you both so deeply.

82

Dear Anybody, but You

Grandpa, I can still hear your favorite word echo through my memories. Yours or mine, when did it become mine? Is it still yours? Is it possible that I stole it from you when you gave everything so freely? I suppose it’s uncouth to assume that one is a thief when they’re unsure of the rights of possession. It’s no short lie to say that I wished I could talk to you every week. Though, truth be told, I never did much talking, not when such stories of old are spoken. Stories that should by all rights be novelized “My Grandpa’s History and the World that Watched.”

I leave your hat on the corner of my bookshelf, wondering if I’ll one day be wise or childish enough to wear it. I keep a birdhouse in my room that you made (“Finch”), hoping that some life miraculously comes from it.

I've come to wish that the tragedy of friends living as many states as decades apart, wasn’t so out of reach in the past, but only a handful of months away.

83

Dear Anybody, but You

If I weren’t so drained from feverishly examining all my memories that they might become fossilized, I’d exhaust the remaining half of my mind that remains loosely tethered to comprehend a smattering of your hardwired faith. Faith that so generously understood, no less forgave, those whose hearts were overshadowed by black ink on paper. “Search, detain, kill”.

Faith that wept for those that lived in small worlds devoid of consequence sustained by power, a witness to the terrifying acts of a claimed righteous war. Faith that endured such a gruesome pogrom on the grand scale of the world stage.

I wish I could express to you how these wars still endure in a vain attempt to sate some carnal desire. I would touch the parts that did afflict you, weighed on you, kept you down in a fermented state, but I dare not speak ill of the dead. I’d like to say that some infinitesimal part of my personhood aspires to find such permanent faith, though I fear that such faith only degrades with each successive generation.

84

Dear Anybody, but You

There is little doubt in my mind that you are anywhere else but in the company of saints and exalted bearers of tremendous faith. I pray that you would impart to me some of your faith, that you might extend grace in the same manner as those that so dearly accosted you.

We all grieve in our own ways; some grieve for months on end, some pass easily within the week, some garner support from close relationships, some find respite in lackluster solitude. Please don’t think less of me when I fall in squalor, entrenched in the smell of spirits. I cherish your stories, the puzzles, knick-knacks, toy buildings, and all else that we so carelessly spent time on. I hold dear the morning breakfasts and holidays that I sat on that couch next to you. For all the time I was never there, I certainly kept you in mind, even now.

With love, Your grandson

85

Dear Anybody, but You

Acknowledgments

We would like to thank all those who helped create this book. A special thanks to all those we consulted for their help and guidance including David Queen, Jon Doyle, Taylor Roy, Rebecca Smith and Tre Watkins. Thank you to Dr. Matthews for your direction and helpful input. Thank you to Dr. Art Seamans and Dr. Darrel Falk for donating to this project. Thank you to all those who sent in letters. We appreciate each and every one of you. Finally, thank you to all our readers. We hope these stories touch you and bring you joy.

With love, Literature and Culture 2000 Section 1

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Dear Anybody, but You Have you ever wanted to send a love letter to the person you admire? How about a letter to a roommate you just can’t stand? This short book is made of a compilation of short letters that were never sent and written anonymously. Take a peek into the intricate details of peoples’ lives and see the words left unsaid.