Under Construction
Anything could happen, between the two of us. Everything. Nothing. It’s hard to say, and day-to-day. But whatever becomes of us, I want you to go on.
I want you to ache for me throughout a long, long life. I want you to write old-fashioned, pressed-flower-filled letters to me after I’m dead and you still have so many years left. I want you stable enough to land a nice man who will give you a nice son who you’ll give my name, just so you’ll have an excuse to say it every day. You’re one of the vessels I’ve chosen to carry my memory, and I expect you to withstand the test of time.
So what are the pillars upon which you are built? As I break things inside, and remodel you to suit me, which supports are holding you upright? We both know you’d let me wreck them if I wanted, but I don’t… I want to work around them, or perhaps modify them in a pinch. In short, I want the structure to stand even if the architect moves on.
Show me how not to destroy you. So that if I do, it’ll be on purpose.
This was an email I sent Glowbug in February 2018, which marked the unofficial resurrection of this blog— and me.
I need to remind her about the name thing.