+ A Late Night Letter

----------------------------------------------------------------------

A public letter to my best friend, whom I miss very much.

Dear Marbre,

You are across the world and it's too far for my tastes. It's late in California, past 3am and my brain will not quit. I just got off the phone after a beautiful three hour conversation with a man in New York and I am thinking much about life. It is a fun house of smoke and mirrors, this act of being. Writing is all I can do to keep from waking the neighbors with an open throat howl to the sky. I am pocketing adventures and stories and love for us to share. I am thinking about what it means to miss someone. I can make a list of those I do not miss, and I can think of what name would sit on top. Who I do miss is much more temporal and shape shifters. It depends on each stagnant memory jolted to life by some passer by or happenstance or even small unobtrusive object. The trigger switch is a finicky and mysterious animal. My heart does know this: it is happy to have shed its old skin. It is excited for new touch and taste and smell. It remembers what unhappiness felt like. It constantly reminds itself to never settle for mediocre again, especially not in art, especially not in love. How could it when this unfolding universe is like a lotus at full blossom if you look with the right eyes? My vessel of a person is filled with gifts and song. Tomorrow I want to see the new Woodie Allen movie. I wish you were here to hold my hand and share laughter. There is so much beauty arriving like a living dream and there is no better partner-in-crime than you. To our many adventures to be had, no matter how far away.

I love you,
Caits

----------------------------------------------------------------------

And because my best friend is my best friend, this is what she writes back as a closing to a gorgeous email written just for me, moments later, apparently also awake and typing away in Amsterdam:

Randomly...

Neruda says...

"Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos."
("We, of then, now are no longer the same.")

and yet it doesn't make me sad in the least...
it's amazing watching us fly!

mar

.
.
.
.
.
.