Fifty-One.
My dearest you,
Some people say that they can be moved by music in ways that nothing else in the world can move them. I think it is so much more than that for me. How a person looks is important, as it is the way most people are noticed by one another, but it is not the most important, the most moving of the five senses in terms of the effect that a person has on me. There can be so much more to someone than the way they look as a whole, as long as they have a smile that means something real.
The way a voice sounds can calm my mind and heal my heart with words that have nothing to do with me, other than the fact that they have graced my awareness with their presence. Have you ever tasted someone’s skin that tasted sweeter than the sweetest honey you could ever imagine? That alone could push me into a love I never expected myself to fall into. The way a person’s body can feel pressed against my own has an effect like no other in the world. People say that the warmth that is shared between bodies simply touching one another in the simplest way is the most sensual experience two people can share with one another. For me it is something that can ground me in reality, even if all other senses have been dulled.
But even more exhilarating than all of these, I find the way a person smells to be the most rewarding. The way a person smells can change the way I view them, drawing me so close to them as if they were a giant object in space with a great gravitational force. I don’t mean the smell of a person after they’ve lathered rich products over every inch of their body, but the smell of a person after they have just woken up, or the smell of their skin after they have been bathed in a fresh rain, that is when a scent consumes me.
You told me when we first met that my skin smelled of what love should smell like. I’ve always been intoxicated by all parts of you, loved every inch of your being, both tangible and untouchable, but the thing I am most afraid to lose is the way your skin smells when we are close to one another.
What will I do when I can no longer breathe you in?
Love,
Your Yellow Bird
yoyoyo60 asked: I'm very pleased to see you back my Yellow Bird- it's been awhile, you've been missed. I love all your writings but 49 had perfect timing. Hope is both a blessing and a curse.... I hope the New Year brings you an abundance of life's goodies.
I have never stopped writing to you, and I will write out the words that I have been unable to share with more frequency, especially now. Life keeps moving forward, and time to breathe is scarce, but not allowing time for connection is something that should never be allowed. A new year will hopefully bring new hope for you and I, and with that, will hopefully come new happiness. As you have said, we can only curse ourselves with these wishes, in order to gain the blessings we keep desiring.
Love,
Your Yellow Bird
tolive-tolove asked: An option. Like I said, perfect timing. I also understand those little tricks to avoid panic attacks and hospital stays. I'm here with you. A complete stranger who felt totally and entirely alone until reading that post. Thank you so much for your words; keep holding on and keep writing.
It’s strange how alone the world we live in can seem at times. I know I fall victim to it every day of my life. Sometimes, the words of a stranger can help in ways we cannot imagine. Sometimes, letting a stranger know your words can help in the same unimaginable ways. I am trying my hardest to not let the world crumble with every step I take, and I hope you are succeeding in the same endeavors. Thank you for your words.
Love,
Your Yellow Bird
tothelastfightilleverknow asked: I found your blog through you liking one of my posts. It was a quote I posted which I actually wrote but decided to claim it unknown. Your writings are beautiful. I am so glad I found you. Keep writing. I hope one day we'll know who you are. beau séjour.
I understand the concept of anonymity about these kinds of things. Sometimes the origin of something makes it less special to those who view it, or at least changes how the creation is viewed. I think that’s the main reason why I favor an anonymous view on writing. If we do not know where the writing came from, it could have easily been said from our own heart, or from the heart of someone we cherish dearly as a direct line to ourselves.
Thank you for finding my words for you. And for your encouragement.
Love,
Your Yellow Bird
helpfuldetails asked: I just now realized your name is a reference to my new favorite song by Bright Eyes. It's incredible to know you're a fan too:). Thank you for your posts, by the way. They are absolutely lovely in every single way.
I am sorry it has taken me so long to get back to you. Conor’s music is something that has held a soft spot in my heart for many years, because of the richness and honesty that his songs possess. And I don’t know if I agree with you, about the loveliness of my writing, but thank you all the same.Your kind words put a smile on my face today.
Love,
Your Yellow Bird
Fifty.
My dearest you,
Does a love letter always have to be filled with happy and beautiful words? I don’t think it does. I used to, once upon a time, and I always wrote out these splendid retellings of the joy within me. Eventually, life takes a turn where you still find yourself loving someone, but there isn’t as much joy as there once was in your heart. I know that is where I am now. Sometimes, I have beautiful things to tell you, but most days, I find myself just being as honest as I can be. I find that I have so many things to tell you that come from this beating heart of mine, but these things are just not as beautiful as they once were. I suppose it’s because I love you differently now. I never meant to, I never wanted to. But day after day, when nothing changes, and I am left unsatisfied, wanting more, it’s hard to feign feelings that have dissipated.
I still have that swelling in my chest that moves up to that spot in my throat when I think of all of those beautiful days we shared, lying in the grass, counting the clouds until they turned into stars. It is not that those feelings were not real for me, for they were the most real thing I have ever experienced, it is just that the look in your eyes changed from brightest possible gaze to one that was dull, to one that was indifferent.
Do you remember holding me so long ago as I told you my fears? I told you my worst fear was the feeling of indifference. And now, look what has become of us. You say words to me that contain only emptiness, and your skin does not touch mine anymore, not even while we sleep. No matter how much closer I try to move towards you, I can never reach your body with mine.
It is these kinds of letters that I only know how to write now.
Love,
Your Yellow Bird
Forty-Nine.
My dearest you,
Lately, I fear that I am not feeling as much as I used to be able to feel. Somehow that statement just doesn’t even make sense coming from my mind, but I wonder if it is true. All these years I have been asking myself what the secret is to becoming less full of emotion, and I still have yet to learn that secret. I know that if I ever was able to figure out how to truly feel less, I would no longer be any of the person that I have sought out to become my entire life, I would not be myself. However, lately, it feels like I am getting closer to that goal. There is only so much that a person can take, so much unhappiness that one person can bear alone, and I do not know if I have reached that point or not, but I know that I am ready to be rid of all of this. Although it is not something that I can necessarily control, I still find myself looking for the answer to yet another of my life’s riddles.
I just spent many hours walking in nine degree weather with not nearly enough clothing for an environment that was even above freezing. I have been walking since the sun set I think, I have a hard time remembering these kinds of things lately. My mind seems to be eluding me lately. For years I have been taking walks in times of trouble. It is the only thing that helps even a little bit. When you just walk until you can no longer truly focus on what it was that made you so unhappy, be it because your feet get tired, you become hungry, or in this case, you become so cold that you cannot bend your fingers, you eventually focus on something entirely different. By numbing my body I was able to numb my mind and my heart enough to calm down. Little tricks I’ve learned to prevent panic attacks and hospital stays. Tiny tricks do not always work, but sometimes they are helpful in moving your spirit when it is ready to give up on you. I do try to avoid doing this in the winter, for it is dangerous for my health and safety to be wandering around in the middle of the night in very cold weather, but sometimes, a change of scenery is necessary.
I bet you wonder why it is that I have not been writing to you lately. I think it’s more of a loss of hope than anything else. Ever day for the past several years I wake up with a little less hope in me than the days before it, and lately, I have been so consumed that I am almost completely devoid of the belief that things will get better for me any time, much less any time soon. People around me always relay their own words of personal wisdom at my fingertips, allowing me to graze the edges ever so carefully. They always tell me that it is possible for me to create my own happiness, my own peace, my own life. That if I stop looking for what it is that I most desire, that it will come and curl itself right around my ankles before I know it. They tell me that it is up to me to change my life for the better.
But is that cheap sense of happiness worth sacrificing my identity? Not only that, but how is it even possible to scrap everything that I have believed my entire life for a new lifestyle that goes so deeply against everything that I am? How is it that I am supposed to be happy when I have to give up on the one thing that is truly important to me. I do not want to abandon my hope in love, even though it has abandoned me long ago.
Yes, I am slowly withering closer and closer to this dreadful fate. This world where there are things that are more important than finding the most beautiful bliss in the smell buried deed in the nape of your neck, more important than the happiness that is rejuvenated each time I am able to see the corner of a perfect smile caused by me, but I do not want to live there. I do not want to be in that kind of world, that kind of mindset.
All of this sadness lingers deep withing the creaking of my bones, the pounding resonating inside of my skull, the slow moving blood that trickles through my veins as I breathe in and out, all of these things, they are overbearing. Each of them can never be truly ignored or wiped away from my mind for more than a moment. No matter how many mindless tasks I complete to keep my thoughts on something else besides you, I will fail. It’s a sickness really, a sad and pitiful sickness that no one should have to bear, and no one should ever bear alone. But, it continues while I sleep, while I move, while my body shakes and trembles from the cold.
Everything—it consumes me.
I will try to write more often.
Love,
Your Yellow Bird
Forty-Eight.
My dearest you,
And just like that, you were back, and I didn’t know what to do. It might have only been a few minutes, but I couldn’t believe how long it felt to me. I could not believe how many things I wanted to say to you, how many words I had for you in my heart, but all that came out were misplaced apologies for shedding too many tears in our life together. How long has it been since I had seen you? So many years had passed, and seeing your face brought be back instantly to where we began, to what it felt like to touch you and breathe you in.
I suppose you don’t look any different, which surprised me. I was hoping that you would have some awful disfigurement or something, but no, you had not aged at all despite the time gap. I don’t think that I would have felt any different if you did change though, I would have thought that you were just as beautiful as you always were. Your smile has changed considerably though, in the fact that your eyes no longer light up when you look upon me. I had no idea how hard that was going to dive deep into me, how hard that was going to feel from my end.
The thing is, the troubling thing is, the really troubling thing is, that you looked at me the way that you would look at a grocer at a supermarket, at a person delivering newspapers, at a person behind the counter at the DMV. You looked at me with total indifference. I’ve never seen something so empty coming from you before, and I had no idea that was even possible, that someone you once loved with everything inside of you could end up being nothing more than a stranger on a train.
I don’t know that anything could have hurt more than that.
Love,
Your Yellow Bird
Forty-Seven.
My dearest you,
I’m sorry that I’ve been so absent lately, but it’s been difficult these past few weeks. I’ve never been so scared in my entire life. It is all just such a terrible weight on my chest and on my mind. I haven’t been able to sleep more than an hour or two a night since it happened.
I don’t think that I’ve ever seen so much blood come out of one person before. Terrifying really. They pulled a mass out of you larger than the size of a grapefruit, and doctors kept telling me that they were hopeful, but that there was also a chance that you wouldn’t make it. I don’t know how I would have been able to handle that.
Sneaking past security guards after closing hours and begging your roommate not to tell. I just had to be with you longer than I was supposed to. I just kept praying to God that no one would take you from me yet. We haven’t had enough time together, even though it’s been years upon years.
I just kept trying to hold it all in, I just kept trying not to cry, and I think overall I did a good job. I hope you’re not worrying too much about all of this right now. I hope that you were not trying to just be strong for my sake as I saw you. I hope every one of those smiles you shared with me, every laugh was something that came from somewhere you really believed.
I came out of your room into the brisk air and saw a star falling from the sky. I wished and wished so deeply. I just hope that something as silly as that can help make a difference for the better in the end of things, because I need you around me.
No one else has been there with so much support as you have, no one else has loved me the way that you have, no one else has made my life as beautiful as you have done for all of these years. I just need you to stay strong for me. I need your laugh as you tell everyone how you’re a fighter.
It’s just terrifying, all of your feeling gone, we need to get it all back for you. We need to get you well, because you still have so much more to give this world, so much more of a life to live.
I still need you here.
Love,
Your Yellow Bird
Forty-Six
My dearest you,
You don’t listen to a single word I have to say to you anymore, do you? I speak volumes that rise and fall, and there is not one correct frequency that hits you the right way, the way that will make you hear what I have to say, listen to the words in a new way. But no, there is nothing, I get no reaction to my inquiries, no response to my stories, and surely not even any irregular blinking when I share my deepest troubles with you.
What I have to say is hard to hear for some people, I am sure, but can you even imagine how much harder it is on me, to have to bear these things, and then to have to speak them aloud to you? I say all of these words to you, over and over again, and you still do not know what any of them mean. How is it that you are so deaf to my voice, when it used to be something that you reached out for, something worth yearning towards.
I am in such a fragile place, and you know how vulnerable you have made me to you. But nothing that happens makes anything you do any different. I worry most days that if i disappeared for you that you would not even notice, and I would turn into nothing but a faded memory you can’t quite put your finger on. That I would become a face you couldn’t remember, and a body you never really cared to hold again.
How is it that two lovers could drift so far apart from one another? Two worlds that once collided into the most beautiful universe of all time suddenly became nothing but stagnant matter. How is it that our lives have become nothing but a rushing wind blowing through a porous screen? I try so hard to reach out to you, but my hands can only touch a ghost-like material, the essence of what you and I were once upon a time.
I find that I have to cover my mouth when I call out for you. At least I don’t have the right to be hurt if I do not say what is on my mind. I can only blame myself for not telling you, I cannot blame you for not listening.
Love,
Your Yellow Bird
