To Someone I once loved...

Dear __________,
     There are no words venomous enough to use against you at this point in time. I only wish there were so that I might convey my deepest contempt for you and your self-righteousness. At one point I loved you, but it was so long ago now that I can't even remember what it feels like to love you. There are absolutely no mature or adult words to tell you how Done I am with you and everything having to do with you except my sister. She is the only thing left of you that I care about.
     First of all I would like to thank you for the moments where you were actually a good father. I will always be grateful for your stepping in when Derwin stepped out. But as I mentioned above, I am done with you. I am divorcing you and your memory. Derwin is a better father than you are right now and I haven't even heard from him in 7 years! I am fed up with the way you treat my mother, the way you treat my brother and the way you seem to believe you are always right. Which you aren't, by the way.
     You are one of the most stupid, hypocritical, vindictive and petty men I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. I can't believe that I used to respect you, that I used to look up to you for wisdom! I can't believe that I ever actually cared about what you thought. Those days are over now, because you destroyed any respect, love or other emotions I had for you besides pity and contempt.
     It is my sincerest wish that the Loving and Just God you claim to serve does the just thing with you and allows you to burn in Hell for all eternity. Though, even that seems to pleasant for you.
     You are the most disgusting excuse for a human being that I have EVER encountered. I hope everything you try to do in the name of God turns foul and that everyone turns against you.
     Godly, upright men do not do the things you are currently doing. They do not manipulate people, abuse their wives, leave their children in danger or follow God when it suits their purpose. You cannot use the Bible for your own selfish reasons. Godly men don't twist the Bible's words to make it fit so that they are not in sin. Your treatment of my mother is the most shameful thing I've ever seen. Your disregard of the safety and well-being of my sister is repulsive and the height of stupidity. Your actions toward myself are disturbing and even now make me feel sick to my stomach.
     You are a selfish, lying, contemptible bastard and I hate you. I'm done being nice and keeping my mouth shut. You are a Prick. I would absolutely love to tear your intestines out of your body through your dick and make you eat them. And, as aforementioned, I hope you rot in Hell for all time.

Sincerely,
Sarai Lillie

RIP (Aug. 26th, 2009)

Dear Grandpa,

I don't know what to say to you. I'm sorry that I haven't seen you in almost a year, I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye. I just want you to know that I love you and I miss you very much.

Thank you for being a wonderful grandfather and for sharing so much with me. I will always think of you when I watch a Paul Newman movie or listen to Frank Sinatra or watch an IU basketball game or pick up a copy of the HT.

I know this sounds really sappy and really childish, Grandpa, but I can't think of what else to say to you. It is going to be so hard for all of us, because we all are going to miss you so much.

I love you.
Sarai

Dear Bill O'Reilly,

Dear Bill O'Reilly,
I would LOVE to inform you that just because you don't speak a language doesn't mean that it is being sung in something other than words.
Also, I would like to say that I used to admire you when I was a kid and watched F

ox News (Faux News) religiously. I'm glad that I stopped being brainwashed by racist and idiotic people like you.
http://www.allkpop.com/2012/11/political-commentator-bill-oreilly-insults-psys-gangnam-style
Sincerely,
Sarai

Dear Self, (part II)

Dear Self,
You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. You aren't the strongest person in the world, but you ARE strong. It's time you be a little nicer to you and remember that what hasn't killed you has made you stronger. And everything that has happened has made you who you are today.
Love,
Me.

Dear Self,

Dear Self,
Sometimes, usually when I am alone, I think about what it would be like if I no longer existed. What if I faded into the oblivion and the me that used to be was erased? I think about these things and I think about all the times I tried to make it so.

Dear Self,
You can't let me no longer exist. I can't just give up on the world because I feel like it. It is silly to kill oneself. Selfish and silly, even if at the time the reasons seem right. It's wrong. It's cruel to those around you.

Dear Self,
Sometimes, when I think like that I just wish I still practiced cutting, just to let it out of my skin. It never helps though. It has never actually helped. All it did was create an even deeper self-loathing. The need to extricate myself from my body is strong, but the desire to prove myself better than that is stronger. The desire to make it when there is so much to bring me down and to the brink is what keeps me from all that stupidity. The desire to prove to myself that I am worth all the trouble people have put into me. That I am worth all the time and effort I've put into myself. That is what makes me keep going even though on days, like today, I just want to say "fuck it" and let it all go.

Dear Self,
You can't do that, you know. You can't just give up now. We're finally in a place to be happy. You have to stop conjuring trouble because you are afraid to be happy, afraid the other shoe is about to drop. You can't let it get to you. You can't let YOU get to you.

Dear Self,
You need to love you. I'm sorry I can't say it to you in the mirror. It seems so ridiculous to look at my reflection and tell it that it is loved. Somewhere deep inside of me, I am proud of the person I am and I love that person. But it has gotten so buried over time that I'm starting to lose touch with it. But I promise to keep the hounds at bay and leave the past in the past. We can't keep bringing these pains and these regrets to bed with us. They never help.

Dear Self,
Let. It. Go. Everything that bothers you. Everything that is making you cry. All the doubts and the frustrations and the self-loathing. You have to let it go. Let it go for the both of us.

love,
Sarai

Dear B___,

Dear B___ (and W____),
Despite what you may or may not believe, just because I wear the hijab does not mean that I am weak or able to be bullied. I also, don't tolerate people bullying my friends. You can't possibly believe that you can get away with this. Just because no one wanted to stand up to you before doesn't mean I'll stand down. You have me in the Catch-22, right now, but you won't for long. You'll never change. Which means there will always be something I can use against you. And when the time is right I will do that.

I find it funny that you can't say these terrible things to my face, but you can spew your venom at a completely innocent party. We've been working together for over a year and yet you've never been able to say anything to my face. I know you've been talking behind my back. R___ told me. You know why she told me? Because she truly cares about me, unlike you.

All this time you were attempting to ingratiate yourself into my good opinions. None of it was true. I should've recognized the symptoms of your disease, it's one I've encountered before. Many times, in fact.

And W____, you have broken my heart. I thought, I hoped, that you were just a sheep being lead by B___. I hoped that it was just her strong "personality" that made you behave the way you did. But this, this just tears me up. Because I truly loved you. B___ I could take or leave, but I adored you. I looked at you as another grandmotherly figure. No, we didn't always agree on politics and there was that one awful argument where you told me "God forgive me for what I'm thinking about you right now." But I thought that it was, once again, B___'s bad influence and that you weren't really like that. I see now that I was horrifically mistaken and that you are a far worse monster than I took you for. It both horrifies and nauseates me. I wish I had never cared about you because this is one of the worst feelings I've ever had.

And you both call yourselves Christians. You are part of the reason I don't believe in God anymore, part of the reason I've gone off in search of something to believe in. I would love to say that you are the reason I turned to Allah, but that isn't true. I turned to Allah because I wanted to believe in something and because I have been on this path since high school. Since that first day I brought the KKK out of hiding, I've been playing with this fire and I am going to be burned. I know I will, but at least I will have tried something, whereas you have brought shame upon yourselves and your God.

You may believe that I will back down, but I won't. This is a "Henry Higgins" moment, just you wait. I may come across as a lamb, but I am the tigress and you will have the claws. It's only a matter of when, not if.

In the meantime, I hope that you are happy with yourselves. I know you aren't. I know you are both miserable. Maybe if you weren't so hateful, you would be happy. Maybe if you didn't lie and hate and drag God through the mud, you would be happy and healthy.

As it is, S____ is a better person than you will EVER be and I hope he gets to watch your downfall.

Sincerely,
Sarai

Dear Adam,

Dear Adam,
I forget sometimes, that I have a crush on you. Which seems quite silly, but it happens. I don't talk to you as much as I used to so when we actually get to talk I am always shocked by the strength of the feelings I have always had for you.

I'm so silly. I have written you all sorts of poems and letters before now, confessing said "love." And I do love you. Very much so. I promise not to hold it against you.

It seems crazy that it has been eight years since we met. Can you believe it? You say I'm a cool cat and I make you laugh. And I giggle like a little girl because I love it when you say stuff like that. I love everything about you really. Your sense of humor, your face, YOU.

Do you remember when you first told me that you loved me? We were on the four-wheeler together on Jo's property. Just the two of us and I know she was jealous because she had a crush on you too. And I tried to be independent and refrain from touching you, but then you made the four-wheeler jump so that I had to grab you or fall off. And then I was too, what's the correct word? Too happy to be touching you. You felt wonderful in my arms. I don't mean of that in a sexual manner either. I was just happy to be that close to you.

And I don't quite remember what I said, but you told me you loved me. And I couldn't say it back because I didn't know how, but I've said it a million times since then. Not that it matters, because I don't think you've said it once since that day 8 years ago.

However, it is days like today that remind me all over again why I adore you. I wish we had more days like today. I almost wish I wasn't married so I could tell you all of this for real, see if you would be interested. I know you wouldn't be. Though, as you have said to me "you've not said it, so it is quite unlikely that you 'know' it." Why must you always be right?

Ah, stop it. You are making me feel all squishy on the inside. I wish I had had the courage then, mon ami, to tell you how I felt. Would things be different? Probably not. You would still be half a world away from me, telling me to visit, and I would still be longing for you.

Is it appropriate to tell myself "bonne courage" at this moment? Because I think I need all the courage I can muster to not spoil this lovely friendship with sentiments that can no longer be expressed and followed.

love,
Sarai

Dear Adam,

Dear Adam,
Thank you for helping me destroy my dreams of going to any Asian country ever in such a humorous way. I can always count on you. ;)
love,
Sarai

Dear Memere,

Dear Memere,
I've been writing you a lot lately. I don't know why, but the older I get the more I miss you and the more I want to talk to you. I guess this is our only way to communicate now. Me writing letters to you. Can you read letters where you are? Is there an afterlife? Is there a God?

I thought I would tell you about my life as it stands now, since you aren't here to actually experience it. I am a democrat, first off. The elections are over and I am so happy with our President. I truly adore him and believe he is one of the best presidents ever. Auntie hates him.

I am bisexual, Memere. Would you care? Would I even get up the nerve to tell you if you were still living? I've never actually mentioned it to Auntie, though I haven't hidden it from her. Mom knows, but she pretends it is just a phase. Which hurts, sometimes. It hurts that she can't seem to accept me for who I am. I know I should tell her that some of the things she has sad in the past have hurt my feelings, but I can't bring myself to. Would you be able to accept me?

I am married, which I think I mentioned before. Sometimes I wonder if I married too young, Memere. I care about Donnie, I really do. But lately I keep wishing we hadn't gotten married. Though I don't think I would've enjoyed just living together forever either. That's still frowned upon. I don't know, I just feel like there is a disconnect somewhere and I don't know how to fix it. I feel like I've lost all the feelings I had for him, but I don't want to give up on him because a part of me doesn't want to hurt him. I don't want to give up on this because we've worked too damn hard and too damn long to lose it all now. Maybe I am overreacting because of all the recent stress in my life.

My car broke down and I had to pay $233.63 to get it fixed. AKA: All the money I had saved up. I should be glad it was just the starter and not something worse, but it's hard to be grateful when I know my transmission is getting ready to go and I don't have the money for a new car. Or even a NEWER car. Or even an old car, really.

My darling Memere, you've been gone for fourteen years, and even though you are so very far away from me, I feel almost like you are here with me. It makes me feel a little better, even though I still miss you more than practically anything. I still wish you were here so I could hug you.

I love you.
Sarai

Memere

Oh Memere,
I'm such a failure. I can't seem to do anything right. I feel like you wouldn't like me at all. Or maybe you would think I was wonderful. I don't know. I just know that I only miss you when I'm breathing. I think about you all the time. I should have moved on by now, right? You've been gone for so long I can't remember what you sound like. All I have left are videos and pictures. Videos that I can't watch because I don't have a VCR.

I feel like I've done absolutely nothing that I should've by now. I just wish you were here. I wish Pepere was here. I wish I knew where Dad was. I wish, I wish, I wish.

I am so selfish, Memere. Because I think you should've lived. You should've been there for my wedding, you should've been there when I got my GED. You should've been there when I was in my car wreck. You should be here now. It's unfair.

I think the worst thing is that I don't remember that much about you. All that I "remember" is from videos, a few phone calls and a letter you wrote Mom. I don't remember what you smelled like, or your voice. I feel as though I have no independent memories. And I don't know if that is because I never had independent memories of you or because of my car accident. So much has been lost over the years. So many memories that we'll never have together.

Auntie says you and Pepere are only a heartbeat away. How is it that you are so close and yet so very far away?

I used to talk to you, after you died. Not literally, but just talking to the air and pretending you were there. I wish you were, so I could tell you about all the things I've learned or about my wedding. Tell you about my job and our new apartment. Plan a trip to see you for Christmas. I wish we could do all those things. And we can't.

Would you have asked me what you asked mom? "Do you feel so very young, dear?" I would say no, because this constant missing you has aged me. I've aged a million years in the time you've been gone. You've been gone far too long.

Would you love me now, Memere? Would you be proud of what I've accomplished? I'm afraid you wouldn't. And in the meantime I'm still missing you like my entire world has ended.

Dear W,

Dear W,
I dreamt about you last night, as I sometimes do. Except, instead of the rage I normally feel upon waking, I just felt tired and sad. I'm ready to move on from you, I think. I am ready to let you slip right out of my existence, but you can't. You simply won't fade quietly into a good night. I have come to believe that you exist solely to torment my mother and, through her, to torment me.

I dreamt that Chris and I were looking for something, throwing clothing and other such things all over a bedroom of sorts. It was only when I looked up I realized it was the bedroom I had in the little blue trailer and where the bed should've been for the futon bunk-bed there were only bars. I glanced up at you through those bars, of course you came in without knocking, like you always did.

I didn't yell at you to knock, but simply said you needed to knock before entering someone's room. You walked back over to the door and re-entered, again without knocking. You never told me what you wanted, just stood there, staring. I said something, though I don't know what it was, and you said I didn't know you, I had never known you. You were voicing the words I often think inside my own head.

"Oh, I know you." I said. "I even know what you enjoyed in bed."

You scowled at that and threatened Mom. I lied and said I had walked in on you many a time. Not entirely untrue, but mostly a lie. The truth is that I've always known what you preferred, it was obvious. You enjoyed being in control of all of us, that should logically extend into your bedroom dealings with my mother.

I asked  you what my favorite movie was and you said, "Home." Obviously that wasn't right, and in the waking world I don't think there even is such a movie.

Your favorite movie is "Remember the Titans" and you're least favorite book in the Bible is "Judges" because it is so gory and violent. Which is why it was one of my favorite books, besides "Job" because God is so sarcastic. You never really knew me. I wonder if you ever even cared to try.

Because you were too busy exerting your dominance over us, too busy abusing us and starving us, you missed the beauty that was us. We could've been a beautiful family.

You make me so sick, sick of men, sick of life, sick of everything. I can't talk to God, because I hate that he let you be a part of our lives. I can't go to church because it reminds me of all your lies and hypocrisies and hatred.

I was trapped inside those bars in my dream. I let you trap me there, but I told you to get the fuck out. No malice any longer, just a weary GTFO. I wish you would, truly.

sincerely,
Sarai

Returning to the Font.

Dear ____,

What is it about you that makes me want to write? To scream and cry and dance around like an idiot?

What is it about you that draws me in, even when I tell myself I won't waste anymore verbs or adjectives or nouns on you?

I hate you one moment and then I love you the next. I miss you and then I wish we had never met.

You wreak such havoc on me, emotionally and spiritually, sometimes physically. You make me want to laugh and write volumes of poetry and purple prose.

I want to kill you sometimes, remove the root of you from my soul. Others I wish I could kiss you or be held by you.

I'm so tired of these contradictions. Is it worth it? Will you be the muse that I need to stimulate the growth of the words in my garden? Or will you be my downfall, the weed that chokes everything else out but the hate and the tears and the unforgiveness?

I don't know anymore. I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going. I'm feeling things I keep telling myself I'm not and you are there asking how I am after so long?

Wasn't it you that said we had to stop talking? I may take the credit in some verses, but in reality it was YOU that said you needed to stop talking to me, but you follow me, haunt me, sabotage me. I don't get it. I'm so confused. Why? Why now?

I guess I'll take the chance, time heals all wounds, right? Can we rebuild? Do I want to? Why am I suddenly cold, just thinking about you and all that lies in the not-so-distant past?

God, I'm confused and you're a drug that keeps taking me higher and higher until I'm too scared to look down. I feel like I've lost track of who I am any time you are near. And you aren't near, but you are. You are as close as my skin and yet further than I can imagine. Why do I let this bother me?

And to think, the only bait you use is "how have you been?"

Dear Annie,

Dear Annie,
Last night, for the first time in so long I don't remember, I dreamt about you. Honestly, it's been so long since I've seen you that I hardly think about you. I feel a little bad about that. But when I do think about you, it is always with a mixture of fondness and fear and nostalgia.

I think about you when I think about the Barbies of the World collection or China dolls. I still have the layout of your old house memorized, the one on Marilyn Drive. Sometimes, when I see a spider I remember how terrified you were of them and how I was so apathetic about them. I remember that, as children do, you wanted me to be scared of them too and you held the flashlight tightly as your other hand made spiders engulf the shadows of the ceiling. And all I could do was giggle, because it seemed so silly to me, to be afraid of such a little thing. What could it do to me?

It wasn't until the next morning, when we discovered Smoky (my Labrador puppy) dead, the rigor mortis having set in and his little body conformed to the side of his dog house, that I became afraid. And Jasmine (Smoky's sister) died later that afternoon, half buried underneath the shovel and other tools Wes used to bury them in the yard. I still feel guilty about leaving her suffocating underneath those tools. It took her hours to die, when we could've rushed her to a vet. Because of that day I became afraid of spiders. Spiders brought death. And massive amounts of childhood guilt. I drift between the waves of that fear really, some days are better than others. Did you ever grow out of it?

It's funny, but when I think of you I often think about you singing. You sang "Amazing Grace" that day with the dead puppies, a plaintive dirge. You sang that cute little song we made up about Ice cream cones to Hannah so she wouldn't cry as we drove to my house. Looking back you and Maria, your sister, were always singing. At least in my memory.

I don't even remember how we met or became friends. I know that you had been on the edges of my periphery for a while, someone I knew but not someone I hung out with. It wasn't until after the other girls I used to hang out with had ditched me, for good apparently, that you and I became friends. It was jealousy that had caused them to ditch me in the first place. I was only seven and was already a woman in all senses of the word except for menstruation. You were ten and had not yet achieved a training bra so I'm not sure why you and I ended up being friends. I sometimes worried that you didn't like me because of my breasts. They always got in the way and I was more a boy than a girl most times.

It was only when I was with you that I was a girl, really. We played dress up most of the time. Or we hid behind the bushes against the fence at the back of your house and spoke to our "fairy." That little bit of imagination I cherish most. I adored our "fairy." I hated it when that part of our play-time came to an end. She died with the oncoming winter, a summer and autumn sprite, and we never resurrected her.

We chased each other through the house sometimes, searching for places to hide. Most often that was the laundry room amongst the dress up clothes and wash waiting to go. That day that you claimed you were a vampire and that you were going to drink me dry, where were your parents? Or Maria? I don't remember them being there at all. I remember running, out of breath and slightly frightened. I have always felt mildly panicked when someone was "chasing" me, even in play. I hid first in Maria's room, then down the stairs and sliding into the kitchen and down another set of stairs to the sunken living room. From there I ran to the laundry room. I hid behind one of the machines, but I could hear you coming. I ended up opening the door to the back staircase to your parents room. I ran, quietly, up the stairs into their room and into their bathroom and hid behind the glass doors of the shower. You found me, of course.

When I dreamt of you, I dreamt that you were married, happily, and working for a Senator. Which senator is unclear. But where you were living was like a dream land, partially because it was. Everything was rounded and fantastical. It had portions of the house on Marilyn Drive and other houses I've admired over the years. And for portions, I was seven running away from you all over again. But you were an adult and I was the child, it was odd. It never felt like that when we were kids, I always felt that you and I were on even ground.

After all, it was in your house that I fell in love with Ancient Egypt, our Homeschool group learning about Tutankhamen. And your dog's name was Kizzy, after the ancestor of Alex Haley in his book "Roots."

I miss you, Annie. I do think about you, not as often as I used to. Do you remember me at all? I wish you well, maybe one day, with the wonders of the internet and what not, we'll be able to find one another on Facebook or something.

Until then,
Love,
Sarai

Fawn of the Dead.

Dear Fawn,

Often I think about you. Usually in my bed, in the old house, at night and mostly naked. Sometimes I think about you, fully clothed, when we were in the middle of bumfuck Egypt and you were brilliant and vital and full of something I can't quite explain. You were my everything even then, though I don't think I realized it and I don't think you did either. We were just best friends then. Nothing more. Though I would often joke that I could be your mom (which I totally could, by the way) and sometimes called you my sister and my wife.

Do you remember when we told that one odd friend of yours that I was your cousin from the Jordan? I thought about that recently while waiting on a customer from Saudi Arabia. We fooled a lot of people with our talk of being sisters originally from Japan and only living in the states for a short time. Just long enough to raise the money to get home. I still feel like we are trying to get home to Japan some days. Do you ever think about those times?

I remember when we first met in person. We hugged as though we were long lost friends and we laughed so hard I thought we'd die. We were going to see Yo and X in September. Lots of stuff happened after that though that prevented that particular excursion. It's okay though. We met Michael, we got way smashed, we got kicked out of that one clinic (I could be your mom! Honeyblade!), I read "Exquisite Corpse" and frightened you by laughing at it. We made lots of trips to the hospital, which weren't fun. Though that one nurse pegged us as a couple before we actually became one.

Then you got sick. And I was scared, honey. I was worried that you were going to leave me, because we had no idea what was going on. One day you were fine and the next you weren't. But we made it through because we couldn't give up. It was like finding another piece of my puzzle, really. So we watched Korean Horror films and we ate ramen like it was going out of style (though there was nothing we wanted more than some good old fashioned Mozzarella Bites). You made me jump a mile high grabbing my leg while we watched "A tale of Two Sisters." I let you talk me into watching "Dawn of the Dead" and I was surprised when I actually enjoyed it.

I'm going to be honest, I had a sinking feeling I wouldn't be going back to Oklahoma. I kept telling myself that I would, but I was afraid I wouldn't. I didn't want to tell you what I was thinking, because I thought you wouldn't let me leave if I did. And it's not that I wanted to leave (because I didn't really want to), but I had made a promise. I'm sorry I broke mine to you that I would come back. Extenuating circumstances and all that jazz.

Did you know that the first person I told my mother to call on the night of my wreck was you? I told her "You have to call Fawn, she's going to be pissed." I was so scared that night. I didn't know what was going on and all I could think was that I wanted to die. I was so in and out of it that night and for the remainder of my time in the hospital. I don't remember you or Donnie being there, even though I know you flew out immediately and stayed with me right up until you had Sarai. I know Donnie was there every day, but I don't remember him being there.

I don't remember a lot of what happened then, maybe that is the reason I lost the case so badly (that and a rather bad lawyer). I wish you could've been there. Of course, if you had been you would've been separated from me like Donnie was. I think that made it harder, actually. Not being able to have the two of the strongest people in my life there to help me.

Damn, I'm getting thirsty. Would you like a refreshing drink of "dite cock?" It's fresh, just bought it for 65 cents. It's delicious and refreshing, truly! And we laughed so hard that they changed it.

I'm so happy you came to be with me after the accident. I wish you were still here, though I know I don't need you as much as I did then. But I still dream about you, I still miss you like crazy.

Do you remember when I asked you out? It'll be four years ago March 9th. Can you believe it? You didn't believe me at first. You thought I was joking and even asked Donnie if I was being serious. It was amidst all the Sakuya bullshit, but we made the best of it and I don't regret it. Even though we both kind of forgot about it for a year or two... Because we are the only people I know who could forget that we were dating each other.

The Sakuya shit will have to wait for another day, as will so many other things I want to say. But just know that I love you and, no matter what, I'll stand with you.

I hope that one day, we can get married (and I can still be married to Donnie). I love you.

Love,
Sarai.

Dear God (May 30th, 2005)

God,
I'm so ready to grow up, but I'm scared. I want to get married, but I'm scared of divorce. I want to have children, but I'm scared that they'll hate me. I'm ready for love, but I'm scared of it at the same time.
All I want is someone who will love me for me and not care that I'm not an A++ student, or a famous author. They'll want to spend their life with me. Help me!! In Jesus name, Amen.

Anything else want to go wrong?

Dear Life,
Anything else you want to throw at me while I'm already so far down I am seeing the underside of China? I mean seriously? How much shit can you possibly have to keep piling it on? Did you eat a crap ton of fiber or something?!

Found out today that the librarian of my High School, Mrs. O'Connor, passed away. Her funeral is tomorrow. This woman did so much for me and I never got a chance to thank her for any of it. Not only that, but I found her on facebook. Right after I found her, that's when Facebook decides to suggest her as a friend.

The lead singer of one of my favorite bands (Kagrra,) passed away.

I made a jar of homemade jam/preserves the other day. The bar on the inside of the fridge door broke and my jar fell to the floor, breaking and all of my jam was destroyed.

Kohl's has been jerking me around and I may have to quit because they are refusing to work with my schedule availability, even though we've been over it so many times.

We are going to have to move because we didn't renew the lease in time (apparently).

And the icing on the proverbial cake: My pearl broke off of my engagement ring.

You know, I understand that there are going to be shitty moments every now and then, but it seems that every time something good happens I get buried under a ton of shit.

Good things that happened recently:
I made homemade jam and it was good! Shocking, considering it was my first time cooking it.

My mom and her husband bought me a wedding present. A van. Yes, they gave me a vehicle. One so I can expand my horizons and go to work and school and all that good stuff.

I'm finally going to get married. I had the money to put down on a dress and get a ring.

I was content with work. Not happy, but content. I'm good with content.

I had been flirting with this really cute girl at Barnes & Noble.

---EDIT---
Found out that Donnie's grandmother's dog, Pookie, was hit by a car and killed on Sunday.

I need to grow some proverbial balls.

Dear _____,

Once I would've tried to move Heaven and Earth to keep this friendship going. Once I would've given my life to keep yours going. It is pretty sad that now I could care less if this friendship works or fails, I could care less about your pathetic problems.

Reasons, I should give reasons shouldn't I? Since you will demand to know what the fuck my problem is. So I'll give you reasons and You'll argue them, but in the end, you know I am right and I am glad that we had this fight so that I know who you really are.

I could've forgiven you the fight we had. I could've forgiven the harsh words you said, saying I never gave a fuck when in reality it was you who never gave a fuck about me. I could've forgiven you, it would've taken time, but I could've done it.

But the unforgiveable thing was when I needed you most and you weren't there. You haven't even apologized for not being there. Let me fill you in, posting a blog 6 lines long announcing to the world that the person who probably meant the most to me died does not equal a personal message saying "I'm sorry for your loss". It can't equal a personal message or a hug or SOMETHING. It is kind of pathetic that my sorrow was all put into 6 short lines on a blog on MySpace. Oh, but I mustn't forget that there were 2 other short lines in a second blog all about you. Wow, 8 lines total. What a precious gift to me, how can I ever repay you?

And then when we finally do talk, you have the audacity to ask me what I've been up to. Hmm, let's think about this for just a moment. I just buried my grandfather and I'm so depressed I'm spending most of my time in bed with the blankets covering my head. And you want to know what I've been up to? Then you tell me that you did too send me condolences by writing the blog. I don't even know what to say to that.

If you had just lost your grandfather and I just ignored you for the entire time that you needed me and posted a blog about it that was 6 lines long you would be pretty pissed. You expect me to be there for you no matter what, you expect me to hold you when you cry, to be there no matter how small the drama. I can't do that anymore. I can't be there for you every five minutes when you can't be there for me at all.

And your excuse for not being there? "I am sorry that I was not there for you.. but like I told ___ I am not the best person to help you deal with that."

You are selfish, immature, childish and two-faced. I know it sounds really harsh, but I'm tired of the bullshit.

You claim to have grown up to fast, that you never had a childhood, but you act like a two year old all the time. I'm not going to say that I act like an adult all the time, because I don't, but even my own mother agrees that I have always acted older than my actual age. I didn't have a childhood and grew up to fast. Do you know what it is like to raise children? I do. I helped raise 4 of them. Do you know what it is like to have to take care of your mother because she is too sick to take care of you? I do. Do you know what it is like work your ass off doing little odd-jobs and then giving all of your money to your parents because what you make is just enough to pay a bill? I do. Have you ever paid a bill? I have.

Your mother pays for everything. You get new clothes and new bags and new shoes. Your mother pays the bills and feeds you. My step-father, as I got older, refused to purchase new clothes for us or new shoes. If we wanted some of the basic necessities we had to buy them ourselves. Did you know that my sophomore and junior year of high school I bought my school supplies with money I saved up from my birthday money? Have you ever had to do that? When you have done all of the things I have just listed then you will know what it is like to be an adult and can justly say that you are grown up.

You are childish because you never try to fix your own problems. Adults try to fix their problems not shove them on others and expect them to fix it. You lash out at the people that try to help you and cling to those who hurt you.

You are immature because you brag about how mature you are all the time. Maturity is not garnering praise for your maturity. You constantly cry to anyone who will listen, the world knows when you have a problem because all you do is complain about it. Maturity is leaning on a few friends who help you stand up when you feel weak, not falling to the floor and expecting everyone to lift you. Maturity is giving everything you have, even when you have little to give, and NOT expecting everyone to appreciate what you've done.

You are selfish because all you care about is you and your problems. You expect everyone to be there for you, but you aren't there when someone needs you. You expect everyone to listen to your pathetic problems, but you can't be bothered to listen to someone else's. You are so wrapped up in your own world that you don't have the time to see anyone else's problems but your own.

You are two-faced because you talk about your "best friend" behind her back ALL the time. Then you say that you two fight like a married couple. You don't even know what marriage is. You haven't even seen enough of your parent's marriage to know what marriage is! Your parents were divorced when you were really little. Donnie and I fight like a married couple. Because we are practically married as is. My friend Sarah W. and her husband fight like a married couple. You and _______ do NOT fight like a married couple. Married couples don't go behind their spouses backs and insinuate that they are prostitues, or call them cunts, or blame them for car accidents, or treat each other like shit. That isn't how marriage works.

You don't know anything about life and you will never grow up.

In a way I'm glad that all of this has happened. The past two weeks have really shown me your true colors and made me realize just how tired of the bullshit I really am.

I do still love you. I think I love the memories of you more than anything. I just don't think I can work this friendship out with you. Not unless you suddenly grow up. Maybe getting knocked on your ass will help, I don't know. Please refrain from writing me about anything anymore, because if you can't be there for me, I'm afraid I can't be there for you.

Sincerely,
Sarai

Dear ________,

Dear ________,
I hate you. My soul and heart are filled to the brim with venom and bile that YOU created. You are a monster, a pathetic waste of flesh in this universe.

I can't believe I loved you once. I can't believe I looked up to you. I LOVED You! To think that I could love a creep like you. Well, I guess it is possible, I mean I did date a child molester. But you are the worse because at least he admitted to what he was accused of. You are the worst of reprobates, the king of filth, a true servant of your "God", Satan. For no "Christian" would love and worship Lucifer as tenderly as you have. Did you let him fuck you too? Or are you saving yourself for when you go to Hell?

You are a hypocrite, a liar, a rapist, an abuser, a self-righteous asshole and worse. They don't get lower than you.

You purposefully put your child in danger, abuse your step-children, rape your wife and then go to church and profess the love of God. You make me sick. I want to throw up whenever you are near. Your false kindness is enough to make even Satan gag. Your lies and deeds are what they use to teach new demons in Hell. You are a shining example of all the worst in Christianity. I hate how I can't even stand to hear your name spoken.

If _____ is right, and God sent you to us, then God is a cruel bastard. Because no one, NO ONE, deserves to be put through your Hell. Not even the worst murderer on Death Row deserves you.

I hate how you've turned ________ against us and turned her into a brainwashed brat. You are SO disgusting to turn a child against a mother who did everything in her power to take care of her.

I can't understand why she ever let you into our lives. You make me feel worthless and stupid, guilty for being a woman and DISGUSTED with my own belief system because YOU taught it to me!

You should listen to a song called "I Get It" by Chevelle. It reminds me of you and _____. You think you are so good, so Godly, but ______ is Godlier than you. Dahmer at his WORST was Godlier than you and he was raping, murdering and eating boys! I shouldn't be surprised though. How is sex with _____? I hope you choke while you are swallowing his sperm. I hope you are infected with a million incurable diseases and die a horrific death.

You know, I've had offers to have you killed? People beg with me to let them make you disappear. And, if it wouldn't hurt ______ (because she still loves you, though not even God knows why) and _______, I would let them. I would gleefully watch your pathetic life extinguished. Oh, I'm sorry, am I using too many big words?

Fuck you, fuck what you stand for and all your bullshit.

I hope your colon gets punctured while _______ fucks you and you die from internal bleeding.

Sarai

My dear Cadillac,

My dear Cadillac,
I'm afraid our story has come to an end. We didn't know each other long, though I still think about you. I still wish I could've saved you.
We came out on the rougher edge of things. Including in court.
I won't say I'd take it all back, because, truth be told, I wouldn't. Everything that has happened has shaped a part of my character. I wouldn't be me without all the awfulness that has come with the accident.
However, it IS time to let you go. It is time to let the past go. It is done now. It is over. I will always miss you.
Love,
Sarai.

A note to myself.

I am looking back over the pages of my life's story. Some things I will pass over, pretend they aren't there. Some I will read and re-read lovingly, the pages worn with care. Others I will pause to quietly cry over; things I lost, things I said, people I miss.
The thing that you have to remember, when you re-read your life's story, is that as long as you have survived the bad times and rejoiced in the good, you have done well. It won't matter how many people read it, how many people "like" it, how much praise you have earned. What matters is that you were your own person, you survived what you had to and you have become someone you like, someone you admire. You have loved, more than you hated. You have given, more than you received. You are who you are and no one can take that from you.

I am proud of you.

To the girl at McDonald's working 3 jobs, in High School, working overtime on her birthday: I don't have anything to spare besides my words (and McD's wouldn't let you accept a gift from me) but you can do it and I am proud of you. Happy birthday, I hope it is better than it was when I came through your line.

Dear Hip,

Dear Hip,
Just because it is raining doesn't mean you need to go crazy and hurt. I'm trying to sleep.
Love,
Me.

Dear Grandpa,

Dear Grandpa,
Happy Birthday. I miss you like crazy and still think of you almost every day. Sometimes I hear your voice in my head and I just start crying because I feel like we didn't have a proper goodbye. I love you and I miss you. I hope we will meet again soon in the next life.
love,
Sarai

Dear Ann Coulter,

Dear Ann Coulter,
Civil rights is not just limited to Black people. Civil rights exists for ANY group being disenfranchised by their government. That's the point of Civil Rights. And I don't agree that these other groups (women, homosexuals and Immigrants) are just whining because they are not getting what they want. And you know what, your ancestors were immigrants. People who were looked down upon. I am part Irish and the Irish couldn't get jobs in this country because they were Irish. You are an idiot if you truly believe that Black people are the only people that have been treated unfairly and disenfranchised in this country.
Sincerely,
Sarai.

To Whom it May Concern,

To whom it may concern,
If you provide insurance to your employees you HAVE to provide for ALL types of healthcare. Not all women who use birth control use it to prevent pregnancies. It is NOT a violation of your religious rights, but it IS a violation of their freedom of choice if you refuse. If you want to be jerks about it, how about paying some taxes so these health items can be obtained some other way without breaking someone?
Thank you for your attention,
Sincerely,
Sarai

Dear Santa,

Dear Santa,
Is it wrong that I feel the way that I do? Is it so wrong that I still feel this way, after years. I've tried to wipe it out with hate and anguish. The anguish remains, but I'm too tired to hate anymore. I'm just sadly angry and angrily sad. Is it fair to feel this way? Should I try to squash it?

Do you know what I want most for Christmas, Santa? I want a family again. I want my grandfather, Memere, Pepere, grandma Bobbi, my dad, I even want Wes and his family back. Just to feel like we were a family again. Just to feel the illusion of love, even for a few moments. Is that wrong? Is it wrong to want even the illusion of it again?

But if Wes wanted to be a father, he should've tried harder. If he wanted to be a part of my life he should've tried. I shouldn't have to go to him to make things work. He should've acted like an adult.

I am my mother's daughter first. I am his daughter second.
I am my brother's sister first. I am his daughter second.
If he couldn't love my mother any longer, couldn't tolerate my brother any longer than he no longer loved or tolerated me. They are a part of me and I am a part of them. I really did love him at one point.

If Carolyn wanted to be my grandmother she should've tried to love my mother, love my brother. She should've tried harder, but I suppose she didn't know how. But that isn't my fault.

I am my mother's daughter first. I am her granddaughter second.
I am my brother's sister first. I am her granddaughter second.
If she can't accept and love them, then she can't accept and love me. And the saddest thing is that I really did love her. Looked up to her. But I can't tolerate her talking shit about my mother. I won't stand for anyone to talk shit about my mother or my brother or my sister.

Mom, Chris and Hannah are almost all I have really. I have several other relatives, but none that I see on a regular basis. And my mother's husband, Mark, is a nice enough man, but he isn't my father. He never will be. He will always be a nice man that my mother is married to. And I'm okay with that. I'm okay with him just being a friend.

I want acceptance for Christmas. I want to believe that Wes actually cared once. Or maybe I don't, because then I'll just blame myself for him not caring any longer.

I'd like to not be so pathetic that I can't sleep because I'm thinking about everything that is wrong. I'd like to not be so hung up on missing people that don't care about me. People who don't even think about me, even though I can't stop thinking about them.

I really just want peace on earth, I guess.

But you aren't any more real than the unicorns and mermaids I claim to believe in. You can't solve my problems anymore than I can. And if there is a God, he has long since stopped listening to me. I suppose this is where I should end this then. What's the point, Santa?

If I say I've been a really good girl this year, will that make any difference?

If I say that I've really tried this year, will that make any difference?

I hate you. I truly do. I hate you for not being real. I hate you for being a childhood principality that can't exist in this world. I hate that this is how everything has worked out.

I am too tired to hate you. I'm too tired to hate anyone, anymore.

Sarai.

A Letter to Stupidity

Dear Stupid/racist people that I am ashamed to call my friends,

It is days like today that make me wonder why I am friends with you. I seriously cannot even begin to comprehend what would make you say the stupid and racist things you say on Facebook. I cannot understand what possesses you when you let yourself practically vomit stupidity all over your page. Did your hands break as you were typing to create that heinous dribble that you call intellect?

Or is it your mind that has taken leave of itself? You write the worst conspiracy theories I could even imagine. Even a child would know that you were preaching trash! You call yourself a Godly Christian, then write some seriously disturbing rhetoric about the President and the United States. I am behind you saying the US sucks. For all intents and purposes it truly does. It is a terrible country, one built on blood and double standards and lies. I do not disagree with that point.

At least place the blame on the correct shoulders! "Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please." As the wonderful Mark Twain once said. Instead of just allowing whatever inane, insane, ridiculous, stupid and unsupportable dribble come out of your mouth and onto the computer screen, do the world a favor and shut up! Try to learn before you speak! When you present something, be prepared to show proofs as well, because I am tired of seeing this on social networking sites!

We go to these sites to bitch about our bad day at work or to celebrate something good, to share what moves us and what makes us smile. We also come to discuss different politics and religions, but that doesn't mean that as soon as we begin a discussion we start screaming like apes loose in the jungle! We are human beings and should learn to act as such. We are not children, we are adults, so let's act like that! Let's try to be mature every now and then, shall we?

In the meantime, I am going to continue to ignore your absurdity.

Sincerely,
Me.

Postscript: It is hard to write a scathing letter when you are being enveloped by beautiful cello music.

Dear Non-Conformist,

Dear Non-Conformist living in my tiny closet of a soul,
I just want to say that we need to hang out more often, you are losing yourself somewhere amongst the name brands and size 5's. Its a crazy world that wants you to be thin, perfect and beautiful. You have to learn to be those things on your own time, not because you feel the pressure. So, feel free to leave that tiny closet of a soul and venture forth like the beautiful knight that you are, destroying the dragons of people-pleasing.
Sincerely,
Me.

Dear Mr. President,

August 01st, 2012

Dear Mr. President,

It's a funny (as in weird) time right now, don't you think? All this insanity with your upcoming election (I am confident in your abilities as you can see) and the world is all a stage (as Shakespeare once said) set with chessmen. In the end it's kind of like that, a political checkmate with more than a chessboard at stake. Of course chess players don't usually play for keeps.

Mr. President, I am going to be honest, I'm not sure why I am writing you. My previous letter (before I was married I sent you a glittery Paris themed card) had a point. I wanted to tell you how much I supported you. I still support you (and not just because you were the first president I got to vote for). But this wasn't really going to be about that.

We're moving, not just as a country. Moving towards something ill-defined and frightening. I'm afraid, sir. Afraid that we're moving not for the better. We (the collective "we") have grown so lazy, prejudiced, paranoid and irrational. I feel like I'm trapped in the collective body of a rabid dog. I resist, but get pulled in again. It seems insane because it is.

Frankly, Mr. President, I could care less about your religious beliefs. The constitution (last I checked) said nothing about religion. I care that you have morals; compassion, honesty, etc. I don't care if you were born overseas or not (not that I believe you were, but I hear this ALL the time at work) because you were born to American citizens so it wouldn't matter anyway.

What I care about is you visiting the Colorado victims. I care about you paying the same amount of taxes I do. I care about you donating your Nobel Peace prize money. I care about you fighting for equal pay for equal work.

I care about you standing up for GLBTQ rights. I care about those things, Mr. President. I don't care if you worship Buddha or Krishna or Zeus for that matter. I do care if you use your power for good rather than "evil." Be Luke not Vader (well at the beginning Vader, you can be Vader overthrowing the Emperor. Huh, the Emperor could be Romney or big business and you could be Vader throwing them over the railing... Somehow I don't think I'll be getting a job creating your ads any time soon).

I'm sorry I ramble so, Mr. President.

I'm sorry I don't have more money. I want to donate. I want to have a chance to have dinner with you. I want to be more than one voice, but it's very hard being an adult, don't you agree?

I want so many things! I want my freedom. I want my health. I want my liberty and to pursue my happiness. I want to be a part of this so-called "Great Nation."

In truth, I just want to be happy. I want more than what I've been told I should want.

I hope I haven't bored you to tears, sir. I hope you and yours are doing well. I hope you continue the good fight, even if letters from supporters stop coming. Even if it looks bleak. There are people, like me, who can't afford Mr. Romney, sir. Especially those who think he is a good option.

Please beat him. Please continue to be the kind and wonderful human being you are. And please say a prayer (if you believe in that, I don't really anymore) for me.

In all sincerity and with great respect,
Sarai Smith
(formerly, Sarai Lillie)

The Golden Man

Dear ____,

I keep telling myself that I will stop missing you, stop writing you. I tell myself that I never really loved you and you never really loved me. It doesn't make anything hurt less, it doesn't change how I feel. No matter what I do, I keep thinking about you. I miss you. I wish things had been different.

I was seventeen. I had just gotten out of a bad relationship. I had finally broken up with the Edward in my life. My home life was deteriorating. I was losing faith in God, in religion, in love. I was wilting, like a forgotten flower in a too sunny window.

And you came in to my picture. You came into the darkness and pulled me out. Or so I thought.

I had a crush on you. You were so smart, strong and funny. You were sweet and wonderful, it was easy to fall for you. I didn't even have to try. But you had a wife and I valued our friendship too much to say anything. Not that you couldn't see it written all over my face. I can say I never tried to take you from her. I am still her friend, though I still feel the shame bubbling up in my cheeks sometimes when I talk to her.

I worshiped you. I adored you. I loved you. I wrote so many poems in your honour, though I have often said I would not waste another verse on you. I say I will not waste another tear in your name.

I keep thinking back to when I told you that I had a crush on you. You said you had already known. I blushed because I couldn't believe I had been so obvious.

I told you that I wanted to have sex. You said you would ruin me for other men. I told you I wanted to be ruined. Sometimes when I think about that I know you ruined me anyway.

I can still feel your fingers tracing the soft part of my neck up to my ear and back down as I was trying to write that mythology I was creating. I had dedicated a character to you. The most beloved man created by the Gods and Goddesses of my world. I called you Zimri. How fitting that, in the Bible, Zimri is a traitor and the name itself means "my song" (Or mountain sheep, but that fits less perfectly.)

I remember how strongly I wanted to kiss you. I remember making you blush, twice, and marveling at my ability. I remember how badly I wanted you, while feeling the guilt creeping around the edges. Your wife. Your son and your daughter. Your life that I was so desperately wanting to be a part of.

I was seventeen, though, ____! You should've resisted me, should've told me no. Told me that it was inappropriate. Why didn't you? Was I Lolita, seducing you away from God and family?

I blame myself for inviting you to the prom. I blame myself for asking you to go with me. I wish I'd never gone. I wish I'd never said anything. But I wanted that experience. I wanted to experience prom, to experience a dance. It was my first dance and I was so excited to be dancing with you. I remember all the moves we created for "Beep" by the Pussycat Dolls. Sometimes, when I'm reminiscing, I play it. I dance and I think about you.

Sometimes I look at the pictures from that night. The night we stopped being friends. The night we became something more than friends, but less than lovers.

I abandoned you when you said you were leaving her. When you said you no longer believed in God. I was afraid, more than anything. And I was angry. I don't even know why I was so angry. I know I felt ashamed and betrayed for everything that happened between us. But that wasn't the reason I stopped talking to you. You had left me, now you were abandoning God and family. The whole time that I knew it could never be, even when I was hoping it would be, I prayed you would stay married. I prayed you would stay with your wife. I prayed I would forget you.

My prayers were for nothing. I still lost you.

The wound still aches every now and then. It still throbs. I still dream about you. I still miss you. I still love you. The truth of the matter is that I always will.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had to remove you from my life. I wish I hadn't, now. But where would we be? You wouldn't have come back to me. You wouldn't have fulfilled my dream. You couldn't. We couldn't

Some days, I admit, I still want you. I am comfortable admitting that. I wouldn't do anything now, because I am happily married, but I still wonder.

I think my problem is that I wonder if you still think about me. I just want to know that you miss me too. And I don't know why I want to know that. Do you ever think about me? Do you ever miss me? Do you ever want me still? I wish you would message me. Just once, let me know that you still love me like you said you always would. Even though we still can't be. Even though I shouldn't let you back in.

Darling, I miss you, but this is another in a series of confessions I've written on my way to letting you go. I won't e-mail you. I won't message you on Facebook. I won't try, though I want to sometimes. I will eventually come to terms with this.

In the meantime, I hope you are doing well. I hope you are happy and healthy. I hope all sorts of beautiful hopes for you.

Love,
Sarai

Dear Memere,

Dear Memere,

It has been almost thirteen years since you left us. Thirteen years since I heard your voice, heard you tell me you loved me. Thirteen years since you told me about all the crazy animal adventures that you were having so far away from me. Thirteen years of wishing you were still here and knowing you will never be here again. I suppose I shouldn't wish you were still here, because I know that you would be hurting. I don't want you to hurt, Memere. I just don't want to keep missing you like I do.

I can barely remember your voice. I watch those videos Dad made to keep you alive in my mind. I look through the pictures to keep your face fresh in my soul. Its hard, though, knowing I will never see you again. That I had only such a short time to be loved by you. To get to know you. I wish I had gotten to know you better.

Though, a part of me is terrified that if you were here you wouldn't love me anymore. You wouldn't be proud of me. That is more terrifying than any nightmare I could ever have. The thought that you wouldn't love me if you were still here makes me work harder to be a person you might be proud of. A person you would always love, in spite of my many, many, faults. And I have so many, Memere. More than I can count, even.

I wonder, sometimes, when I look in the mirror and see my reflection staring back at me, if you would like the person I am today. Would I still be someone you enjoyed talking to? Would I have ever sent Dad a hateful letter? Would we all still be clinging to some semblance of a family?

I can't remember how you smell, or what it felt like to be in your arms. I can't remember those little things that would make you still real in my world. I would give anything to talk to you again. Anything to hear your soft accent. Anything to hear you tell me again about the bear in the neighbor's swimming pool or the lizard in your trash can.

I'd give anything to have had you there when I got married. I don't think I've ever missed you as much as I did that day. It was beautiful, even though it was just a courthouse ceremony. I think you would've liked it. I hope you would've liked it.

Its unfair, Memere. Its unfair that you left me when I was so young. I've spent my entire growing up wishing you were here. Praying that somehow the dead could come back, even for a few minutes. Just so I could say goodbye. I never got to say goodbye. I didn't get to go to your funeral. I don't even know where you are buried. Are you near Pepere? Are you somewhere beautiful?

Its such a strange feeling, really. To be so young and have no grandparents left. Pepere first, you, Grandpa and finally Grandma Bobbi. It seems impossible really. Impossible that I have lost you all. Implausible. Improbable. Insane.

I suppose, simply put, I miss you. It only gets worse as I grow older. With each passing year I feel your absence more keenly. I think, "I wish Memere was here so I could tell her about this." But maybe you are here. Maybe you already know. Maybe you are still with me, even when I feel that I have lost all hold I thought I had on your memory. You are such a beautiful memory. Something I never want to lose. Where would I be without even a memory of you?

I love you.
I miss you.
I wish you were somehow here, just for a little while. Just so I could tell you everything I've been wanting to tell you for thirteen years. Just so I could tell you that I love you and I miss playing piano with you. I miss talking to you at night. I miss hearing your voice. I miss that most of all, just hearing you speak always made me feel better. I wish that wishing would give me something besides a throb of pain in my chest and in my throat from holding back the tears.

Dear Memere, I love you.

Love,
Sarai.

Dear Dad,

Dear Dad,

I don't know what to say to you. I don't know where to begin or to end. Where do I even start? The beginning or the end?

Auntie says that I should forget you. That I am better off without you in my life. She says that you have done many horrible things, many awful things. She says I am better off without you. Maybe she is right.

My friends say that I should forget you. That I am better off without you in my life. That you are a druggie, a criminal. You are never going to change and what closure am I going to gain? What answer will I receive? Will reaching you give me any sense of peace? Will finding you give me any sense of closure? Or will it just bring me down further?

Am I using closure as a crutch, Dad? Do I need it to live? To move on?

Why do I even care anymore? Why do I bother? If you wanted to contact me you would, wouldn't you? You know where Auntie is, you could write her and ask her for my information. You could try. Does it mean that you don't care since you never ask about me? Or do you ask about me and she doesn't mention it because she is tired of me putting myself through all this?

Its my fault that you don't write anymore. That you haven't written in ten years. Nobody really knows that but me, so it is understandable that they can't comprehend why I try so hard to find you. And I need your forgiveness, Dad. I can live without the closure. I can live with you not caring about me anymore. But I need you to forgive me.

Forgive that thirteen year old girl who was trying desperately to recover from the loss of her grandmother. Forgive her for being hateful. Pardon her for hating you, at the time. She blamed you for Memere's death. But she was also hurting from promises that were broken as they were made. Forgive her for sending that hateful letter, so many years ago, saying she never wanted to talk to you again, because it was all your fault. Forgive her for falling prey to those horrible feelings building up in her chest.

Forgive me, Dad.

If I don't try to get your forgiveness, if I don't try to say I'm sorry, if I fail, I will never forgive myself. I can't live with myself, knowing that its my fault and that I didn't tell you I was sorry. Because I am sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry.

I miss you. I love you. I hate you. I wish you would give me some sign of something! Anything, really. I just want to know that sometimes you wonder about me. I just want to know that you can forgive my stupidity, that you still love me. Or feel some kind of emotion towards me.

And is that wrong? Is it wrong that I want this from you? I might receive some kind of closure, knowing I made the attempt. I tried. I worked hard, trying to fix it. Knowing it may never be fixed.

I've tried to cut you out of me. I've tried to drink you away. I've tried to lose you somewhere in my memories, far from me. I've tried everything I can think of to relieve this horrific guilt I feel for everything. I've been self-destructive and tried to rebuild. I've done things I'm not proud of, things I long to go back to, but I can't let myself. But in the end, you are a part of me.

You are in my smile, in my laugh. You are in my bloodstream, you are a part of me that I can never get rid of. No matter how hard I try. You are wired into me, just like our shared DNA. We are intrinsically entwined.

What do I do? Do I try to fix this? Do I let it go? Could I let it go?

Are you a crutch? Is this just a shameless cry for sympathy and attention?

I need some sort of resolution. What resolution do I expect? It has been ten years. Ten years and I can't forgive myself, or you. I can't let it go and I can't make it right.

So where does this leave us?

Confession

While I'm admitting secrets, maybe I should tell you that you meant the world to me and it hurts so much that you decided that our friendship wasn't worth the time. I hate you, but I miss you. Maybe someday it will fade, but for today it is an angry welt on my heart that keeps screaming curses at you for the betrayal. Are you Happy?

To My Husband (Whenever He May Come)

   Begin in me, stir in me, breathe in me a love I did not know. Press your hand to my heart so that I may drink deeply from your wisdom and knowledge. Let me know what you know, speak words I didn't even believe were true, give birth to a whole new life within my soul.
   Let me lose control and you gain it, let me sleep quietly in the haven of your arms. Be my protection and my warrior. Love me, be one with my soul and heart. Let God be your guide, so that you might lead me into His light. Help me bear the pain, help me stand whenever I fall. Be a man after God's own heart.
   Say you'll be my best friend and lover, my warrior and gentle guide. Let me stray not to any other, but let me be your only. Your wife.

To a best friend

   How can I repay you for all the times you listened to my sorrows?
How can I repay you for all the hours you spent listening to my
endless chatter?
   How can I repay you for putting up with me for so long? What
could I give you to say, "Thank You"? What words can there be
to express how much I love you for always being there when
I needed you?
   God must have known how lonely I would be on this Earth, so, He
sent you to me! You brought me closer to God without even
knowing it.
   You kept me sane in an insane world. You were sweet when the
world was bitter. When I was down, you pulled me up. When I
cried you were always there to dry my tears and say, "It'll
be okay."
   Love doesn't really cover every area of the way I feel
about you. You've done everything for me, now it is my
turn to give your gift back to you.
   You are the best friend anyone could wish for. I am
the luckiest person in the world to be your friend.
   Thank You! :)

Yet another "Dear" Letter

Dear _____,

I would like to preface this letter by saying that this is not a request for more contact. I do not need nor desire to hear your excuses or your reasons. I would like to say my peace and then be done with the whole situation. In essence, washing my hands of YOU and all the crap that comes with YOU.

So, let's begin shall we?

First off, I do not understand why you are NOW wanting to come back. Really? It's been what? 8 months? I know that you couldn't have possibly grown up in that amount of time. Nobody changes that quickly. You fucked things up. If you had really cared, you would've tried much harder THEN than you did. You would've acted like an adult and not tried to place the blame for your own actions on others.

Mature? When have you EVER been mature? You talked all the time about how you had to grow up SO fast. I would like to refer you to the last letter I sent you. The one that listed all the things that I had to go through growing up. The one that said unless you had something to compare you were in no way grown up or had to grow up too fast.

Your mother pays for everything. You don't have a job. You have never had a job. You don't pay bills, you don't pay for food or clothes. You don't pay for your internet or phone. You joy-ride with your "friends" all the time. You buy new clothes, cds, purses, etc. Shall I go on?

Secondly, oh did you fuck up. So hard, _____. I can't even begin to explain to you where you went wrong. Shall I try? Well, there is attacking my boyfriend. You should know better. You NEVER attack your "friend's" boyfriend. That is ridiculous and pedantic. You are so childish.

You lied. About everything!! That stuff you said happened at school NEVER DID. You said all of it for the attention. You know what? I actually had that shit happen to me! Do you know how hard it is to get justice for that kind of thing? Really fucking hard. You know what else? You just made it even harder for those girls who have that actually happen.

You lied about _______. You are two-faced. You have always been two-faced. I can't believe it took me so long to see it! After all the two-faced and backstabbing bitches I've dealt with in my life, you would think I would recognize one. But no, you played it cool. You had me fooled.

And worst of all, when I needed you most, you weren't there for me. I have done quite a good job of cutting you out of my heart and my mind. I don't even really think about you anymore, you know that? That was when I knew it was over. When you completely ignored me after my Grandfather died, I knew I could never be friends with a selfish bitch like you ever again. Seriously? You should have known how I was feeling. Your grandfather died not that long ago.

Come back to me in a few decades and maybe I'll have forgiven you.

Sincerely,
Sarai

Another "Dear" Letter

Dear ___ or _____ or Any other Jack-Ass with a Dick,

Please do one of the following to yourself:

* Fuck yourself in the ass with a razor-wire dildo.

* Rip your intestines out of your dick and eat them.

* Take a high dive with piano wire wrapped around your throat.

* Get ass raped by a huge biker dude with "Mom" tattooed on his arm and a fresh case of Gonorrhea, Herpes, Syphilis and AIDS.

* Get killed by a serial killer who eats their victims while they are still alive.

or...

* Get stabbed in the genitals repeatedly by a strung out whore with a rabid porcupine in heat.

Sincerely,
Sarai.

P.S. No! I'm not pissed off at you at all! Do me a favor? Choke on a penis and die. ^^

P.P.S. I hope your penis breaks every time you try to fuck a girl.

To my Father

Do you ever wonder? Does your mind ever drift towards mine in the darkness of the night? Do you ever think about what it would've been like to watch us grow up? To watch us change and mature, take wing like silken butterflies on a summer breeze?

Or do you just lie on your bed in your cell, listening to your cellmate masturbate and wonder how you ended up where you are now?

Does it suck knowing that you have two children all grown up somewhere, you don't even know where? Do you ever wish that you were here, or do you just pretend that we don't exist? Believe it or not, we do exist.

Do you still care? Did you even care to begin with?

I wonder. My mind often drifts toward wherever yours may reside, drifting over endless seas of darkness and time. I try not to think about what it would've been like to have a father to be there for me. And now, we are adults, unlike those butterflies because we have no wings with which to fly. I can't stand to think about you some days, it's like watching a bloody sunrise and wishing the dead back to life.

It sucks knowing that you never got to watch us grow up, that you don't even know where we are right now. It sucks because we don't know where you are either. I wish you were here, I can't deny your existence no matter how hard I try.

I still care. I have always cared. I miss You.

Hung Up On Bitter-Sweet

Dear _____,

I wanted to write you a letter, to explain what I'm feeling right now, but I can't bring myself to enter into the beauty that is your life now. I don't understand any of it, I loved you so much. I don't understand why you ended up with her, but I hear that you are happy, I know you have a child now. I can't help but think sometimes that that child might have been mine had things been very different. We could've been happy, but you never said anything, you never spoke to me or told me how you felt. Why didn't you speak up? I know you cared for me too! You expressed it in so many unspoken ways and I thought, finally, someone looked beyond the flesh and saw the me that was sitting inside the prison of my body. But I guess not now. I guess that was just another lie in a long list of sins.

I wanted to tell you how much I hate to hear your name now because I feel like crying every time I think about you. I wanted to tell you all the feelings welling up inside of me and why they are there. I wish I could, but I can't bring myself to hurt her like that. Even though we haven't been friends in years, I can't help but try to be kind to her. I loved her once, you know. I called her friend at one time, before all of this has fallen onto the jagged rocks of reality. I just don't understand you. I know the reasons, I hate the reasons. Why did you ask him, when you must have known what he would say? I would have given it all up, you know. I would've given up all those dreams, all those hopes if you had said something. I hate that you never actually spoke up, professed some feelings for me. Why?

Instead, here I am, heart-broken thinking about the times we had together, when you actually seemed to care. I have to know, I want to know. Do you love her? Or did you marry her because they said she was perfect for you? Do you treat her well? Does she love you or did she just marry you because you were perfect too? And why is it wrong to believe like I do? Why should belief tear people apart when it should bring them together? I don't regret not having you, I am in love with someone now, but it still hurts so. Some days it's like you tore my heart out and then shoved it back upside down and backwards. You can't force a square into a circle and you can't force my heart back in when you've already disfigured it like you have.

So, I guess this is goodbye, love. I am slowly getting over you and the pain that I didn't know could exist. Did you know that sometimes the longing for someone you loved so passionately once can put a bitter taste on the world until even the beautiful things that you have going have that bitter-sweetness to them? Do you still love me? Did you ever really care about me or did I just imagine that you actually loved me once? I wish I could ask, but I don't want to destroy what you have. Maybe we never would've been happy, maybe we wouldn't have lasted long, but God, I wish I had at least had that chance to find out. I don't understand why it hurts so much, I really don't. I do love him, he is amazing. He is sweet and loving and smart. He is everything that you were and yet different and brilliant with his own mix of spice and sweet. There is pain and there is joy and I don't understand why I'm still so hung up on the pain you caused.

Dearest of hearts, I know it wasn't meant to be. Don't worry, I'm going to be okay. I wish you happiness with her. I sincerely hope that you love her, that you actually care and that you are kind to her. I love you enough to let you go this last time, even though I never really wanted to in the first place.

Sincerely and best wishes.
_____ _. ______