Today.

I'm not writing this for you so much as I am writing this TO you. I doubt you'll ever read this or know that I am shamelessly quoting you currently.

Today has been short, so far.

I'm listening to "Autobahn" by Anberlin. I don't know that you would like it, though it makes me think of you. The simple idea of just driving, dreaming, etc.

I miss you. Miss you more than I have any right to.

I want to steal the title of the last blog you posted, yet I'm afraid it will catch your eye.

You told me once that I didn't know you. I think I know you a bit better than you care for me to. Or maybe that is simply my imagination.

Either way, I think it is unfair that you let me in so far and then not only do you bar the way, but you push me as far back as you can... I'm sitting on the outskirts, wondering what happened?

I am the person who believes it is my fault. I have always felt that it was my own fault if I were left behind. I did something wrong. I'm trying hard not to be that person.

I'm trying hard to not be that person.

Funny thing was that I came here to post about my novel and your last blog post (on a blog you probably only vaguely remember that you have) popped up first in my newsfeed. This wouldn't seem so odd except that I had just found a note you had written me in a notebook from 2005, the year we met.

And all the warm feelings I have for you came flooding back. Not that they ever really went away. If it is possible to have constant feelings for someone it would be for you.

Now I am listening to "Gooey" by Glass Animals... You mentioned British groups. I think you would like them.

I suppose finding that note and then seeing your posts were just meant for me today. I was meant to see them.

Its disconcerting for me, you know. All of these strong feelings and random actions. Random words that make me wonder if you ever really cared or if I was merely a person in a long deluge of people in your wonderland. Truly, your mind is a wonderland I would like to visit sometime.

I over think.
I over speak.
I am far too opinionated and many other things.

I feel like I should make myself smaller when I think about you. Like Alice, shrinking to get through the keyhole. Except, as much as I want you to see me, I'm afraid you don't like me because of what you see. Whether it is my face or my opinions or my writing.

You told me once that I needed to chill.

You told me once that you loved me.

These are things that I hold close when I try not to think about you or how we haven't spoken in months. And how much that really bothers me.

My texts to you have become little diary entries in a long line of silence.

I am rambling.

I never realized how much you write like your favorite author. I loved him before, but now I love him even more. Does that make me crazy?

Little Sister

I remember the day you were born as if it were yesterday. I remember holding you for the first time and thinking you were such a pretty baby. I remember feeding you, changing you, watching you grow up.

In March you will be 18 and I feel like it was yesterday that I was chasing you around the house, your giggles echoing down the hallway. I still feel bad for scraping your little heel when I tried to let you ride my bike with me. I still remember the panic I felt when you wouldn't eat, slowly wasting away until you were skin and bones. I remember thinking that I wanted you to get better, but also wanting you to no longer be in pain.

I think of these things, memories made over a lifetime and I wish you were little again so that I could do a few things over. I wish I had played Barbies with you more. I wish I had read to you more. I wish we were cuddled up on the couch watching "Help!" again.

I'm so proud of you though, my beautiful child. Even though I am nostalgic, even though I miss baby cuddles and listening to you playing in your cupboard.

I'm so jealous, darling. I feel like you are so much prettier, so much smarter, so much more interesting than I ever was or ever will be. You tell me I'm pretty, but I can't help thinking you are the most gorgeous person to ever set foot on this planet. And I'm not just saying that because you are my baby sister. I'm not just saying it because I've always thought you were prettier than me.

I'm saying it because I never want you to feel like you aren't pretty. I'm saying it because I want to build your self-esteem up. I want you to always believe you are beautiful; without being a snob, without being a bitch. I want you to believe what I never have; that you have worth and are beautiful.

Dear A,

Dear A,
I'm afraid to send you my stories.
I'm worried that you won't like me once you actually read all that is inside my head. And I know I shouldn't put that much stock in other people's opinions of my work, of me, but I do. So if I seem shy about sending you things that is why.
I felt like a little honesty. A little randomness because you have no clue where this is coming from, but I can't help it because it is something that has been pestering me since I sent you my other story "The Ring of Roses" back in February.
I don't know why I sent you my blog. It has so much more truth than I feel comfortable with you reading, but I wasn't thinking. I did it. And it has been bothering me because I care about you and I don't want you to read my stuff because I want you to still care about me.
I'm afraid you will find me a monster and run from me. Run because I have so much darkness swirling about in my head.
I'm afraid that you will realize my feelings for you, feelings that neither of us can follow because I am married (and I love him, I do) and you are so far away, not just in physical distance. You are so much smarter and wonderful. Too wonderful. And I have self-esteem issues. Issues that have become debilitating because I keep pushing myself out there. Pushing because I want to live beyond myself and because that is something you admire about me. I'm not used to being admired. I'm not used to the attention you have given me before. And it scares me, but I want it. I want you to like me. I want you to admire me. I want you to love me.
Damn it. I want more from you than I have any right to, but I need it too. And when you tease me and say "come visit" you have no idea how I soar on that, how much it makes my world brighten and then darken.

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

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.