Love Letters to J

Don't get me wrong -- I didn't really start this blog just because I wanted something I can vent out my frustrations on, nor is it just for the sake of honing my craft.

Do you see this blog's title? It's for you. You're the only J in my life now, and you might as well be the only A B C D E F G H I K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z too.

I should be sleeping now, but I find myself wanting to talk with you. You know, the type of talk we used to have -- giddiness and sugar rushes and pesto dip and Tanduay Ice. That sort of thing.

I write this because, frankly, I don't want to slide back into that funk anymore. And it's frustrating whenever my wheels slide an inch or so.

Listen, whatever I said or did last night, I didn't want it to happen. Same with this morning, too. It never was in my intentions to hurt you; all I wanted was to make you smile. To make you laugh like before. Now, I don't know. I know you're busy and all, but everything we did last Sunday -- the talk, the dip, the hugs, the kisses, everything -- is sorely missed. Like the first few days. Like this weekend.

I know I told you I'd let us simmer down, but I just wanted to say: I miss you. Badly. I can't wait for tomorrow, if it does come, and I hope it does. And here's hoping I don't take any more bad steps, since I've taken one too many and stepped on your foot a lot of times now.

I'm sorry, J. It's hard to regain one's footing when one has slipped a lot of times.

The Winter Olympics were on TV the whole time. There was this judge in the skating competition, pointing out everyone's mistakes, except for this one couple. Not that I want us to be perfect and all, but I want us to be right for each other. I have my flaws and you have yours and I love you, flaws and all. Even if sometimes, it takes a couple of Advils, a half-pack of Marlboro Lights, and a bottle of The Bar to make me sleep after a fight. No, I'm not drinking right now. Yes, I'm smoking. And I had my last Advil last night. Turns out it was toothache and it went away as soon as the pill went down with the water.

I'm sorry. I'm rambling again and I know this is boring you and I've put too many "I"'s here like I always do when I write. It's hard to pretend to write from the third person, from a bird's eye view, much less a SuperSampler point of view.

But whichever way I look at you, you are beautiful. In all your RGB, CMYK, colour-separated glory. In your technicolor, life in 3-D, larger-than-life IMAX beauty. I hope you know that, because I don't feel like I've done a lot to make you feel it. But you are, really. There is no doubt about that. You are pink and lilies and bubble baths and red wine.

Again, I'm really sorry. There are things that I regret saying. "I love you" is not one of them. No matter how many Advils I have to take for the toothache. You're the only one. I need to declare it to the world.

I should go back to sleep now. I hope those three words make sense to you, because they do to me, and I don't want to close my eyes without letting you know that you make sense to me.

I love you,

J.