my first love letter
Howdy friend, I miss you.
Here’s a tiny love note from a tender heart + a playlist I made for you.
Earlier this month I returned from two months abroad & the transition has been a series of challenges.
The phrase I say the most lately is “I am so lucky & this is really hard.” I’ll attempt to elaborate throughout these letters.
What’s currently competing for attention in my head is:
An upcoming birthday…
My mother sold the house I was lost & raised in to move across the country—too stressed to stop for a hug (ow).
I am unemployed, untethered & unmotivated (ugh).
I think I fell hard in a version of love but I’ll have to place it in my overflowing box of missed connections (sigh).
Earlier this week a dear friend stopped in to pick up the remainder of her things (she’s lived with me for a year & I'‘ll miss her).
We shared a few drinks over a back porch confessional & in one of those precious conversations I was convinced to write this love letter. My hope is that these will help me to expose what it is to process grief & joy in real time…
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some pages for processing
One morning I woke up with tears in my eyes & had to make my hands busy. I salvaged this precious buckaroo illustration from scrap mail. I used a variety of markers, colored pencils & ink pens. I turn to child’s play when I can’t manage much else. I continued the lasso to incorporate a tiny poem that came up after a text that hurt my feelings.
I thought about the ways “hurt” is unavoidable, especially in relationships. How for the most part, we’re trying our best. So I got the markers, scissors, the glue & sat in the sounds of my immediate surroundings. I find silence is nice try on rather than play music, a simple attempt to ground myself & remain present.
The poem reads:
I want to love you with my holy messy heart. We will hurt each other because we are human and we can’t help it. But what matters is how we mend—how we repair. And I think that’s the whole f*ckin point of this mess… Don’t you?
Bucking bronco with poem inside a lasso: I want to love you with my holy messy heart. We will hurt each other because we are human and we can’t help it. But what matters is how we mend—how we repair. And I think that’s the whole f*ckin point of this mess… Don’t you?
A friend wanted to call these pages my “state of the union”, a laugh comes up when I think of the accuracy in that. So umm, hello, welcome to the chaos of my brain. These pages hold all sorts of errors & problematic language about self. But I highly recommend purging on a page in an attempt to calm a mangled mind. Use different colors & pen widths, overlap & outline. Rip the page. Burn it? It does not mattttttter, just get it out of you.
some physical love letters
There’s a special touch of magic to a postcard. A majority of friends that received them, sent me a photo—as if to confirm that they were touched. It’s wonderful. The act of a postcard. It’s one of the oldest forms of communicating (I can see the notes being placed in saddle bags during the 1860s now–yes, that’s a Pony Express reference!) & it really is amazing that this little sliver of paper is escorted across the globe into a mailbox based on the scratches & dots I made with a stroke of a pen.
I beg you. Send. More. Mail.
Scribbled text in journal: I sent you a postcard from across the ocean, across the world.
something I worked on with inspiration personified
The community I curated in my little pocket of Texas is an element I missed most. I call these “ColOurCollective Hours”. Elnegra is a force I’m able to learn from/with on a regular basis & our friendship is one of my most prized possessions. In the season of transition I’m in, it’s an honor to sit on the floor & work out the kinks with her. This week I was able to work on some branding & UX Design enhancements for her website. We also played with staging & photographing her painting of Frida Khalo there in the middle.
You’ll find Leanne placing her grocery order amidst making a custom typeface from for her product labels & website.
SHE. IS. SO. TALENTED.
Something i hesitated to send
This material made it into a couple conversations this week. I was most proud of “My hands ache from prying.” I can’t describe the ways in which I fought myself to compose this. I still can’t decide if was worth sending…I — I think it was. For the record, the response it received left me aching & tender.
I feel crippled with care sometimes, wait — a lot of times. I can’t help that my eyes (or ears) are always searching for a thing that reminds me of you. Perhaps it’s an overcorrection due to an unbearable lack of consideration when I was growing up. Regardless, it’s mostly a curse & here lately, I desperately wish I could turn it off.
A page from The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector: And—and don’t forget that the structure of the atom cannot be seen but is nonetheless known. I know about lots of things I’ve never seen. And so do you. You can’t show proof of the truest thing of all, all you can do is believe. Weep and believe.
weep & believe
Lastly, I’ll share some pieces that have stayed with me & maybe they will touch you too. Themes include: fear, rejection & a dash of hope.
Diorama of Love
Martyr! - Kaveh Akbar
Divine Rejection w/Omar Apollo
Adrianne Lenker: Tiny Desk (Home) Concert
I’ll eventually include some writing from perpetual care, a tiny collection of poems that
I curated for a publishing contest I came across in March—that was a whole thing & no it was not selected (phew).
Truth be told, I don’t know what I’m doing. Everything feels like it’s on fire & it hurts my eyes if I look directly.
I barely leave the house. I tear up mid-conversation. I struggle with routine & being kind to myself.
You know how it is.
Anyway, thank you for being here,
I’m honored to have your precious time.
xoxo,
d.