Writers are forgetful, but they remember everything. They forget appointments and anniversaries, but remember what you wore, how you smelled, on your first date… They remember every story you’ve ever told them - like ever, but forget what you’ve just said. They don’t remember to water the plants or take out the trash, but they don’t forget how to make you laugh. . Writers are forgetful because they’re busy remembering the important things.
I think about you often. I wonder who you are, what you look like, how your voice sounds, how tall you are, what you smell like, where you are. I wonder if you’re thinking about me too. I wonder if we know each other, or if I’ll meet you tomorrow, or if it’s going to be a few more years. Whenever it is, whoever you are, I’m excited and anxious and I miss you. I know it sounds silly to miss someone you’ve never met, but I do.
Sometimes, I hear a song and more than anything I want you to be with me, listening to it too. I want to cuddle up to you and sing along or dance around all goofy and cutesy. I wonder what our wedding will be like and what songs we’ll play during the ceremony and reception. I wonder what music you like and if you ever do the same sorts of things when listening to music.
I guess this all seems sort of sappy and girly and I know I’m posting it to my tumblr where a bunch of people can read it and I’m sure a bunch of them are rolling their eyes at me and scrolling past this, which is totally cool, but I just wanted to say all this to you. And since I don’t have you here with me in any way shape or form that I’m aware of right now… this is the best method I’ve found for doing that.
“When I was a girl, my life was music that was always getting louder. Everything moved me. A dog following a stranger. That made me feel so much. A calendar that showed the wrong month. I could have cried over it. I did. Where the smoke from the chimney ended. How an overturned bottle rested at the edge of a table. I spent my life learning to feel less. Every day I felt less. Is that growing old? Or something worse? You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.”
Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer (happy birthday you brilliant man)