Gulfs of Absence

Message Wierda:

loft/life partner:

i have been swallowed whole by a parade of upper east side prepsters. they drink gin and tonics year round and say things like "charming." my time in captivity has so far been draining, but today they let me out to go to the petstore so i could do model-drawings for rousseau the rat. i was not allowed to take a rat home with me, however. i was also encouraged to adapt my story to a feret, a more homey creature for these types i suppose, instead.

i said ra ra ra long live the rat! and bought a pair of brown chucks in defiance.

still, their entreat continues. i am worried the next pair of soles i purchase will be needole-point stubbs. and i will not where house shoes out in public.

captively yours,
raleighbeth.


Message Smith:
Dear Raleigh,

Despite your best efforts to distract me from my frustrations with a dose of witty prose and anecdotal jabs at UES club and culture normally so heedlessly disarming, i remain unfettered in my convictions. Upon arriving back at our house this morning to the 3 bottles of andre neglected and yet still so loyally standing salute in the refrigerator awaiting their certain mortal sacrifice i concluded that you, indeed, spent the night out again. Though i tried throughout the morning to keep my hostilities at bay and keep in perspective the very nice relationship you are embarking upon and how important it is for me to learn that as an adult, i must learn to share and compromise and cooperate with my fellow man. However, only hours later reading the paper in the living room without you, i was overtaken by my sadness and feeling of abandonment and in a fit of rage stormed down into your room and amassed a large pile of relics from your former inhabitance and burned them all outside in my little cigarette hovel.

unfortunately, this drastic and desperate attempt to unburden myself of my truly gripping grief stood to ultimately exacerbate my loneliness and longing because there, in the shadow of the flames so consuming your arts and crafts, thomas pink oxfords, hanna andersen longjohns, and ballet flats was the silhouette of your shining face. in that moment, i realized... i will love you always. perhaps as i get older and wiser, the grief will blossom into a celebration of your life and spirit, and i can look up and out in a northeasterly direction and feel that somewhere, in an overpriced bistro on madison, my little raleigh is looking up and thinking of me, too.