Dear boy,

I'm very sorry if my ways of wiliness have disturbed you. I have far from it to be manipulative if it didn't have something to do with a flaw of character. I do not use the excuse of not being perfect to behave in a childish or atrocious manner. I have hurt inside and the sum of my experiences have created who sometimes is a little person, not a big person.

To quote the Grinch, my heart is two sizes too small sometimes. Or at least that stretching and wretching is the way it feels.

I have seen a therapist. I have worked on my demons. And yet I succumb and feel like the spinning rinse cycle of a washing machine some days. You cannot be my everything. You cannot and do not make me whole. You do not fulfill me.

We are two people who have found each other and clung, for whatever our selfish motivations are inside each other, having found some kindred spirit that can laugh, share, and perhaps even cry and mourn towards each other.

As I sit cross legged in front of you and I look at what you are, and who you say you are, and what you do, and what you have become and what you will yet to become, I am struck with an awe and a sadness at the same time. Awe that two people can cling to a sliver of wood as it's floating aimlessly across the ocean. Fear that I can let go, or you can let go. Fear of losing you and fear of having you.

Being with someone is a work of effort. It's harder than being alone. It's easy to bite my lip and crush back words that want to vomit from my mouth, telling you everything, so ashamed that I am human sometimes.

I am a woman. Often a petty woman. A woman still young and not learned of the entire world. I have yet to do or even aspire to great things. I have not enough ambition or selflessness to change the world. Sometimes it's hard to even change my own mind.

I would get lost in my thoughts some days if you didn't gently hold my hand and guide me back down to this earth. Sometimes I am not grateful that you do that. In fact sometimes I downright hate you. I suppose having passion is better than being numb.

Sometimes I am going to hurt you. Sometimes, I may even do it intentionally. I may even feel a touch of malice. Other times I shall love you more than I even love myself. If you take the shift of the moon, the body and its fluctuations, outside influences, it is any wonder that we creatures are not consistent.