Last Letter For You.

Prose poetry.

Hi, again.

I’ve been thinking about you. Your hair has been on my mind. Having trouble sleeping.

Is that how it is for you?

Anyway. I’m not sure how to say such things; they’re not that easy to explain on paper. But so be it. I’m having trouble talking to other people. My mouth just wants to speak of your beauty. your compassion.  your hair. It’s beautiful, you know? Sunsets. Oh, and I mean your hair too.

I’m not even sure if you know me. Is that weird? I saw your hair in a café yesterday. You ordered a large cappuccino with room for extra dairy. That’s my favorite. We have so much in common. You got a small table by yourself. We have that in common too, that we’re alone. I wanted to join you but you brought your computer. I felt weird. I saw that you liked Andy Warhol. He’s my favorite.

Is that weird?

That you don’t really know me. Your hair. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

This is the third letter I’ve written to you. I’m going to send them to you. Soon, but I’m scared. I’m dreadfully afraid that you won’t write back. I’m one of those people who are terribly panicky about relationships, talking to the female type, and being forsaken. I guess you could say I’m an monophobic. It’s always in the back of my mind, you know? Being alone. I don’t know though. You don’t know me. Maybe you do but I don’t know. You seem nice.

Oh, I haven’t told you. I’ve gotten published. Well, really it’s not a big deal. I’m not a real writer, a writing specialist. I’m what Holden Caulfield calls a “phony”. You know from that book Catcher In the Rye, by J.P. Salinger. I don’t know though. You look smart. I bet you know. I bet you go to the university or something like that. I bet you go to the university and you study biology or organic chemistry. The real hard stuff. Or that fancy art school on the edge of town. I bet it’s the art school. You remind me of an artist.

I like you. Is that weird? That I like you but you don’t know me. It’s okay with me. Is it okay with you? I haven’t really left my house since I saw you. I live in the woods. Away from people, away from people like me. I like it that way. Do you? You seem like it. But I don’t know. Because I don’t know you. Is that weird? I’ll stop writing to you. I don’t 

want to scare you.

You won’t write back. You’ll never get these letters. I’ll never write again. Not just to you but I will never write again. These four letters changed me. In a good way… I’ll be remembered. Hopefully they’ll find these letters when I’m gone. And they’ll publish them too, like a real author. I hope you never know it’s about you.

I’ll miss your hair. Is that weird?

 

Just,

Charles

Reviews

[Alessander]

This very much has a "stalker" tone to it, and as such, it impresses a gamut of emotions on the reader. The "letter" is layered with humor, sadness, eeriness, desperation, loneliness, delusions of grandeur, and a few other things as well. The focus on the hair is a little odd, but perhaps that's just stalker fixation. Very good details, like with the coffee, Warhol, etc...I thought the word "beauty" or variation thereof could be substituted, but that's more personal taste than anything else. I don't mind the "mispunctuation" either, I thought it helped create the off-tilt tone...

[Emily B]

it is weird, but in such an outstanding way

Hm, reminds me of "The Perks of Being a Wallflower".
But perhaps that's just because I read it recently.