It is as I said it would be. In spite of my hearty insouciance, we are all insecure and vulnerable at our failings and misgivings. I cannot help but compare myself with you, and see that perhaps you will be better than I already am, because I do not have the heart for this anymore, and your heart is in the right place.

In such close proximity, comparisons must arise and be summarily dealt with. If I feel so inadequate, it is also because you make me feel so, and I must learn to be satisfied and less conscious that in comparison to you, my failings are magnified.

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I have promised too much and delivered too little. Because I have overstretched myself, and decided to absorb too many priorities, I can feel the deadlines closing in again. There will be time to think.

“I think about your thighs,” she wrote in the second letter, “and the warm, moist smell of your skin in the morning, and the tiny eyelash in each corner of your eye that I always notice when you first roll over to look at me. I don’t know why you are better and more beautiful than anybody else. I don’t know why your body is something I can’t stop thinking about, why those little flaws and ridges on your back are lovely to me or why the pale soft bottoms of your New Jersey feet that always wore shoes are more poignant than any other feet, but they are. I thought I would have more time to chart your body, to map its poles, its contours and terrain, its inner regions, both temperate and torrid – a whole typography of skin and muscle and bone. I didn’t tell you, but I imagined a lifetime as your cartographer, years of exploration and discovery that would keep changing the look of my map. It would always need to be redrawn and reconfigured to keep up with you. I’m sure I’ve missed things, Bill, or forgotten them, because half the time I’ve been wandering around your body blind drunk with happiness. There are still places I haven’t seen.”

-Violet’s letter, What I Loved, by Siri Hustvedt

Now and then I think of when we were together
Like when you said you felt so happy you could die
Told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was love and it’s an ache I still remember

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end
So when we found that we could not make sense
Well you said that we would still be friends
But I’ll admit that I was glad it was over

But you didn’t have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don’t even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No you didn’t have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don’t need that though
Now you’re just somebody that I used to know

Now you’re just somebody that I used to know
Now you’re just somebody that I used to know

Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over
But had me believing it was always something that I’d done
But I don’t wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
You said that you could let it go
And I wouldn’t catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know

But you didn’t have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don’t even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No you didn’t have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don’t need that though
Now you’re just somebody that I used to know

You are so filled with desire it makes my heart sink. What will I do when it all goes away? If desire builds the castle, commitment and empathy cements its longevity.

What’ll I do without you around,
my words wont pun, my pennies won’t pound,
oh and my frisbee flies to the ground,
what’ll I do without you.

What’ll I say without you to talk to,
no one to serve or volley the ball to,
you write the words but I miss the volume,
what’ll I say without you.

Oh I don’t know what to do with myself
now that I’m here and you’re gone.

What’ll I do when you’ve gone away,
my ball wont pin, my records won’t play
and all of my hours limp into days,
what’ll I do without you.

What’ll I do now that you’re gone,
my boat won’t row, my bus doesn’t come,
I have the fingers, you’ve got the thumb,
what’ll I do without you.

Oh I don’t know what to do with myself
now that I’m here and you’re gone.