found.

I swear over the last 52 hours and 6 minutes since we met, I have spent more time thinking about the space between your upper and lower lip than an ontologist thinks about reality. I’m amorously transfixed by the way you breathe. I’ve studied your face like I’m going to get quizzed on it and I can tell you right now, there’s not a question I’d get wrong. For example, I can tell you that you have a mark about two fingers below your right eye. It’s far too large to be a freckle, but not dexterous enough to be a mole. I aim for it every time I kiss your cheek. 

It’s a wonderful thing that I never have to share this with you because the truth is you terrify me. I’m scared that you’ll leave and I’ll be stuck with this useless knowledge. Can you tell me how knowing the number of hairs on your jawline will help in anything other than my own personal tantalization? My sunshine, I beg of you, if you do leave and slice me open, make it quick. Use the biggest knife you can find so my body will decompose faster. I will have no use for it after you’re done with me. At this point, my body is but a system of systems to be used at your will. It lives to keep you safe, satisfied, and smiling. 

If you do read this, I hope it’s sometime in the future. My sunshine, I don’t want you to read this and be worried for me. I know how you care about me. I feel it every time we touch. The warmness you contract from the sun shines through me like a window during August. Again, I’ll say it. Don’t worry about me. I want to remember that these thoughts were something I once had. I want to remember that these were thoughts my brain once created. I want to remember that my brain gives me a gift every time you pop into my mind, and I want to remember to thank my brain everyday for the rest of my life.

I miss you, love. I shouldn’t tell you this because I know how your beautiful mind works. I understand your synapse and neurons like they have been the first thing I’ve seen every morning since the day I was born. Like the x-rays, blueprints, and roadmaps of your brain have been plastered on every wall of every room I’ve ever called my own. My darling, you have inked my skin with the way you spoke. Whether intentional or not, I’m sure you’d be glad to know that. There are certain things I won’t be able to think of without your accompaniment being present with that thought. The way your voice trails off when you speak makes me wish I could trail off with you. I don’t know where we’d go, but as long as you spoke to me along the way, I’d follow senselessly. I don’t know if I ever want us to meet. Not because I don’t desire it, but because I do desire it like a waif desires food. A waif, or any other person for that matter, will never be completely full forever. I feel that if I ever hugged you, we’d be super glued to each other. I feel that the only way I could leave is by losing a limb that will forever be attached to you. When the day of our inevitable departure would come, I know we could search all the words in every language and never find ones that are as beautiful and dramatic to say as these: I miss you, love.

These words are hiding in every crack and crevasse within my bones. I claw to get them out but it’s no use. They are tumors inside my marrow. They are your shadows infecting every cell I possess. I will stay in this shadow. Primarily because I do not think my body will permit otherwise. Secondarily, I’d stay in these shadows as studious and loyal as ever. I’ll keep writing my words in hopes that you’ll read even a syllable and shine on me. That would make the previous dark days worth it. That would make the cancerous days of the future ever so painless. 

This is to a boy I do not know. I exaggerate even the simplest of details. I examine your skin as if every pore is filled with the nectar of Gods. Although you may not know me, I’ve heard every word you’ve said. I’ve heard them so clearly and so phonetically correct that I could hear these words through a raging crowd. I could hear these words through the currents and tides of the seven seas. If you ever see this, I don’t want you to get flattered or apprehensive. I want you to understand that this message isn’t about you, it is to you. The eyes on this message are not the boy I’ve fallen in love with. The eyes of that boy are created only by letters, letters connected to words, words connected to sentences, sentences connected to paragraphs. Letters that seem as real to me as the hairs on my arm, but letters nonetheless. 

I would use every symbol known to man (or even several that are not) and I could not grasp the emotion that I have. All this writing seems to be wasted on a boy who will never read it. Though that statement may be true, it does not help. It is not my fault that my mind is so aggressively attached to this imaginary boy. Every word I create or have created belongs to this boy. I would lay down every paper, notebook, or blog post I’ve written and give it to him in hopes that he’d feel even a microscopic amount of what I feel for him.  However, that boy is a figment of my imagination and so this message is not to him. This message is not to a boy I will never know. This is message is to a boy that I do not know, yet I hope to know so I may begin writing letters again.

The fact that I live apart from you is one I have to live with solemnly everyday. Every human being lives so deeply in transit that it seems the thought of the settling down is old-fashioned. Constantly I think of the imperfections in the world, but mostly I still think humanity is essentially beautiful. Something about a crying wife proud of her husband or a little boy giving spare change to a homeless person. These events transcend my cognition of anything else that would alter my perception of the world. Some aspects which might make life seem confusing also seem to have virtually indefinable meanings. Maybe the fact that I’m left handed and sleep on the right side of the bed is random chance. However, maybe it means that when our solemn days of living apart are finally over, you can lay on the left side of the bed and and fit into me like a puzzle piece. I’ll twirl your hair with my right hand as my left hand describes the whole experience for pages and pages. I’d write the most beautiful poetry about you. My best works by far. 

I am the hustle and bustle of a city
I am the whispering honking sound
I am the smog between your syllables
I am the single foot that touches the ground

I am the open fields in the country
I am the farm boy who feels free
I am the sunrise in the morning
I am the space that connects you and me

I am the stars and constellations
I am the farthest star that can be seen
And the deepest depths of the ocean
Not to mention the space in-between

(I wanted to name this If I Were a Toy, but I felt it was too hilarious for a serious poem.)

I was but another toy on the assembly line 
My limbs kept forcibly in their place 
Parts of me sewn tightly together
Machines melted plastic to mold my face

I was shipped across the seven seas
And opened by the loneliest of hearts
A boy who seemed to have a lot of things
Many toys that were ripped apart

Soon to be me I soon did see
Reasons for the scattered, silver, screws
The boy grew tired of his possessions quick
And soon I was one of the old toys, too

He first twisted my head around
So my thoughts couldn’t fly straight
Then he ripped my legs out from me
As if making sure I couldn’t run away

He beat me away at the pavement
Until my paint started to peel
Although the clothes I have will cover it
The plastic will never heal

From a distance I look barely opened
Upon inspection other children will find
That I’m damaged and torn forever
The marks that boy made are one of a kind

No one will want me after all that
They’ll look for the toys close to flawless
My fate is sealed for eternity
The rest of my life in pediatricians office

How excited I was to be used by this boy
It seemed like the greatest opportunity
Now another toy will have some time
To experience his morbid curiosity

There once was a man named Beau
Often he stumbled to and fro
Then and again
He drank with his friends
But mostly he drank alone

He met a girl named Kate
They went out on a date
His last girl, a whore
Made his heart feel sore
Now it’s a diamond clean slate

One day the couple got married
Despite all the problems that varied
Until the day in the sun
Where he picked up the gun
And down the hill she was carried

3rd Grade

When Kaitlin walked into her 3rd grade class, she immediately noticed the differences between the room and her 2nd grade classroom back in New York. The first thing she noticed was the bright colors of the sun that entered the room from the wall of windows right next to her desk. The second thing Kaitlin noticed was the decorated walls around her. They were filled with desired jobs drawn by the Kindergarteners who occupied the room just two hours before. There were drawings of astronauts and firefighters with the occasional inanimate object mixed in the bunch. The final thing that Kaitlin noticed was this boy staring at her. She immediately looked away to avoid eye contact. The first thing the teacher had the students do is write their name in cursive on a nametag to tape to their desk. When Kaitlin was done she looked up from her desk and found that same boy standing right in front of her. “What do you want?” she asked bluntly.

“My mom says I need to talk to the new kids in school because they’re new,” The boy answered dryly. “I’m Matthew.”

“I’m Kaitlin.” She said still a tad confused by the situation.

“You do cursive good.”

“Thank you”

5th Grade

“I like you.” Matthew said, looking anywhere but her face.

“I know,” Kaitlin rolled her eyes. She had heard this before. Many times actually, over the last two years. She had heard it from him. She had heard from other snickering boys while he hid behind. She read it on notes. She smelled it on the cookies he baked her. “But I don’t like you.” Kaitlin looked back down at her desk and started finishing her homework in cursive. Kaitlin made eye contact with Matthew, hoping to get complimented about her cursive once more.

7th Grade

“You really do have the finest cursive anyone has ever seen.” Matthew smiled at her with the same dorky smile from 3rd grade. Some things never change.

“It’s been 4 years Matthew, when are you going to stop flirting?” Kaitlin rejected him… again.
“I’ll always be here! You’re the love of my life!” He responded without thinking.
“We’re not even in High School yet, you don’t love me”
“I get it, you’re scared! What if I say I like you? Is that scary still?”
“Matthew, I’m not scared. I just don’t feel the same way about you. I like Nick.” She responded matter of factly.
Matthew rolled his eyes and groaned, “All the girls like Nick! Just because he smoked weed once…”
“It isn’t the weed! He really funny! You’re just jealous because all the girls like him and no one likes you.” Kaitlin said it and immediately felt a sharp pain. Even she knew that saying something like that was a little far.
Matthew froze for a second. He didn’t know what to say to that. “I… I’m… not jealous that all the girls like him. I’m jealous that you like him…”
“That’s just the way it is Matthew. If you like me so much, don’t you want me to be happy?”
“Of course, but he won’t make you happy. Be happy with me!”
Kaitlin groaned and buried her face in her hands. She spoke through her hands “It’s been 4 years Matthew, why are you so persistent?”
“What does everyone call me?” Matthew asked.
“Uh, what do you mean?”
“In class, if someone wants to get my attention, what do they call me?” He clarified.
“Everyone calls you Matt.” Kaitlin answered as she lifted her head up from her hands.
“Not everyone calls me Matt. You don’t.”
“Well that’s because I know you prefer Matth-” She stopped realizing what he was about to say.
“That is why I’m so persistent.”

8th Grade

“So you’re going to date him.” Matthew stated as he looked up at Kaitlin next to him.

“I’m already dating him.” Kaitlin corrected. She sat down next to him at the lunch tables. “I’m sorry. You really are one of my closest friends. You were the first friend I ever made here!” 

“He’s not going to make you happy.” Matthew said as he itched his beanie.
“Matthew! Don’t say that. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”
“Why can’t YOU just say that you love me back? Even as a friend?”
“I don’t say it because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
Matthew itched his beanie again. “Well I didn’t get the wrong idea. Mission accomplished.”
“Why do you keep scratching your head? Do you have lice again?” Kaitlin giggled.
“No! I don’t have lice!”
“Sheesh, then why is your head itchy?”
“No reason.”
“Hmm okay.” Kaitlin swiped the beanie off before Matthew could do anything. Underneath the beanie, there were no lice. In fact, there wasn’t even hair. “Matthew, why are you bald?”
“Can you please just tell me you love me?” Matthew asked.
“I can’t do that.” Kaitlin said again.
“Why not? Please?”
“I can’t!”
“I’ll be able to die happy if you just tell me you love me once!”
“Well maybe in the next 70 years we are live I’ll tell you one of these times. It’s just not going to happen today.”
“You’ve really ruined my life.” Matthew got up from the lunch tables and stormed off.
“Stop being so dramatic!” Kaitlin shouted at him while he walked away.


9th Grade

Kaitlin looked around frantically for room 108. Why is this school so freaking huge? She thought to herself as she scurried through the halls. She eventually found the classroom and entered right on time. She examined her surroundings. Matthew isn’t my class? Wow, the one time I need him. Kaitlin laughed to herself at the irony. She assumed she would find him at lunch. At the end of class she ripped out a piece of paper and wrote down a little message she had to get to him. At lunch she searched the halls and found nothing. Not even a glimpse of Matthew. She saw a few people she knew and converse with them a bit. They asked Kaitlin how her summer was and Kaitlin of course responded with “good.” even though that was the farthest from the truth. In all the time that she knew him, Matthew had ever missed a day of school so Kaitlin grew worried. She went to her next class and sat down. She couldn’t get the thought out of her head that something was wrong. Kaitlin folded up the message and put it in her pocket. Near the end of the day, a man walked into the classroom and whispered something in the teacher’s ear. In response, the teacher looked down at her seating chart and concluded by pointing right at Kaitlin. The man asked Kaitlin to come with him and he sat her down in a cold metal chair. The point was chipping off of the legs of the chair. She looked up and saw one singular light that made the cramped office slightly brighter.

“I have some bad news.” The man started. Kaitlin zoned out as she heard words that forever changed her life. She had no idea what to do so all she could do was run. She got up and ran straight out the door. Sprinted down the hall. As she turned the corner a piece of paper flew out of her pocket. The message unfolded as it landed on the ground. It read “I like you, too.” In the finest cursive anyone had ever seen.

I wrote a profile for this character I had in my mind. It was my first time ever using this method. I’ve heard of writers who end up having files and files of characters and insert them into stories when need be. Anyway, the following is an excerpt from a scene with this character.

Henry got in the car with his Dad after a long day at school. He was waiting patiently for his Dad to ask about his day. He didn’t. Henry actually had something to share with his Dad. He made a few jokes in class and this group of students laughed at them. People! Laughing at his jokes! It was awesome! Of course, Henry didn’t express this to anyone, especially his father. He threw his backpack in the backseat and caught a glimpse of his old Baseball Letterman jacket. Those were the days, Henry thought to himself. He pulled back his seat to try and get comfortable, but even then his legs were bent in the car. Henry’s father opened his mouth and began talking about sports. Oh right, his father never asked about his day. Henry remembered now, that was his mom. His mom always asked.