11:03 a.m. | 2006-07-02
Even The Streets Speak Your Name
Your letter was addressed to "Princess Lauren."
Not because I am a princess, or that I even act like one, but because you know that sort of thing is the complete antithesis of me and you knew I'd get a kick out of it (and what girl who's nice enough to deserve the title doesn't love being called it?).
For a male's handwriting it was soft and rounded and your words were smooth. They were exactly like you'd talk -- I could hear your voice. Even years later (like now) I can pull out that letter (like I just did) and hear your tongue against my ear back and forth, in and out. I'd never been so completely wrapped up in anyone until you.
Even with the boys who broke my heart (reference: Gabe) and the ones who nurtured me to be better (reference: Michael) I was always grounded. My heels were on the ground and we always ended because I was grounded. I don't think, from the time I first saw you to the last time I smelled you, my feet ever touched the ground.
My heart was up in the air I felt dizzy and I didn't want to stop. I was so happy and giddy and girly. I made you dinner and we talked about the future and both of us were so uninhibited. It was beautiful. I loved every second I spent with you.
You're not gone now, you're not mine and you're very so far away but you're not gone. 'Cause I still cry when I read your words and I can still smell your cologne on the paper and I might have stashed a voicemail or two.
But you made me so happy (and the only thing that makes me less so is knowing that you'll never make me that happy again).
