I'm on a train, sitting next to the window. You're all the way across the world, on your own spiritual journey. You are becoming a Buddhist nun, and I'm working a shitty retail job. We both find way to sacrifice, I guess, in different ways. You explore the world, I explore Seattle. You move closer to the divine, I must turn away.
I wonder what Germany's like in the winter. Is it much like Utah? You would have had a blast in Park city, if you had come with us. It was cold as hell. But your performance art would have gone well with our folk music. It would have been some kind of adventure.
Do you have the same memories that I do? It's burned into my head, when I sat by Helen's fireplace, telling faerie tales to the fire, when you sat down and then I told faerie tales to you (They were all stolen from Jim Henson's show). The night you slapped me, too, can't be forgotten. I made a fool of you in front of Paul, and you asked if I deserved one, and I said I did. That was the first and last time I had ever been confused about whether something felt painful or not.
It's been so long, so much so that it reminds me how important you are. Look: Those times when we would meet for coffee when you'd visit from New York helped me clarify myself more than anything else ever. Your conversations are like Rosetta Stones for my thoughts. I would never had understood e. e. cumings if we hadn't talked about the bastard and I began to speak my mind about that poem about mice.
I want you around; I don't want your body. We can't revolutionize theatre so far apart. The way your eyes sparkle is important to my craft. Our letters back and forth aren't enough.
You are my friend,
Come home soon.
Created: Mar 08, 2010Document Media