Introduction: Unsent Letters

True Juxtaposition

I am cold when the buttons on my jacket
fall, or I leave them undone,

And I am cold when you remind me to
close them, as my father often did.

I am cold when I reach out for your hand, when
my father yells, when I look into your eyes and forget

That I am cold when I hurry to my bed, put on
layer after layer, and when I wake up.

I am cold even when I can't wake up, when I
dream, dream of you, when haunted by

Him. I am cold when we hang up the phone,
when it doesn't ring, and when I sit in my bed, and wonder.

And when you are downstairs while I
am upstairs, and I leave notes on your door,

I am cold, and when I write letters I'll never send
and the familiar becomes strange.

I am cold when I hate strangers. When you
remind me of him, I am cold, while I write,

I am cold when I try, when I fail, and when
I attempt belief.


***


This begins a series of posts titled "Unsent Letters." I have written letters that I don't intend to send as long as I can remember. It's a coping mechanism. I do it when I'm stressed, sad, overwhelmed by joy, or just thoughtful.

Sometimes, I don't send them because they are for my eyes only, containing my most deeply held secrets. Sometimes, I don't send them because I'm afraid they might hurt the named recipient. Other times, I don't send them because I'm lazy, or because I don't want to buy postage, or because I forget. This series is an ode to the letters I'll never send.

See the full series here.