Dearly beloved, are you listening?
I can’t remember a word that you were saying
Are we demented or am I disturbed?
The space that’s in between insane and insecure
Oh therapy, can you please fill the void?
Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed
Nobody’s perfect and I stand accused
For lack of a better word, and that’s my best excuse

Lyrics because I don’t have much to say, or anyone to direct it towards. Another brilliant Monday, and along with it its exhaustion.

The hypothetical love letter moving in the shadows.

To You:

I’m sensing boredom. There’s nothing to say, and nothing we want to share. And I’m just trying too hard. I don’t want to try at all. Were it up to me I’d just stop talking. Such an exhaustion comes from having to force conversation. It’s supposed to flow.

Lately I’m a bit more social, talking to people I haven’t spoken to in a while. Or getting to know people I only just barely made small talk with, and the feeling is good.

There has to be some sort of balance in life then, I guess. Some things look up and what was once going well must start to fall down slowly (but always so surely).

Give me something to write about.

And don’t ever forget I love you.

-Bri

Backdated to reflect date & time of when actually written, though was published later.

Dear Mom,

Thank you for being so supportive. The email you sent back to me was definitely appreciated. I’m glad we have a great phone relationship (’cus we both know it gets very sketchy come face to face). It makes me happy to hear that you support what I do on-campus (even if it’s controversial lol…) instead of saying I should only focus on classes/grades.

Although downplayed that I feel my grades for Winter quarter do not merit any kind of gift I’m so glad you didn’t take it negatively. My classes this quarter are so much more interesting and hopefully that translates into amazing grades. (: Though, you really don’t have to get me anything. 0: It makes me feel bad receiving a present for something I’m supposed to be doing anyway. But, thanks Mom.

Love,
Bri