Couldn't resist. tiwicty, Leave a message, so on . . . I always do these things, and I always have more to say.

The Rules:
* List 11 things you want to say to 11 different people.
* Don't say who they pertain to.
* Feel free to comment, but don't confirm or answer anything.
* Never discuss it again.

1. Full disclosure. Breaking the rules. We do that a lot, or we did. My comrade-in-arms . . . I need to read what you wrote in November again. I need to write a lot. I'm sorry. Not for November, but for pointing my finger at gods who ruled the seasons. You'll grumble at the metaphor but you'll understand, probably. It makes me feel old and dried out when I know there are things you can't tell me. but. it happens. I love you. I love you best when we start talking and I remember why. You said we don't exist and I ached. I worry about your future, about your control. But I have faith. Spring. Eightteen. It'll happen, because will can do that. Will does that.

2. It's coming and I'm not thinking about it. You meant the most, and you don't now, and I'm left without mostness and it's been a long time but I still don't know what to do without your name on my lips. And if you hear me in the stars, whisper gently back . . . I don't. I don't hear you in the stars. I don't love you. Anymore. You are a name and face and memories and song lyrics but you're not you, you haven't been you for a long time in my head. You're not even a person, you're a character in my past. I'm not sorry for doing that to you, though I think I should be. I was so young, so much before all beginning - it was so much before all beginning - I can't make anyone understand, except the one you really loved maybe, because it was before. I have loved. You were everything, and I wrote that in my story of you, and Rita said: sometimes everything isn't what we need. Sometimes everything is much more than we need. Sometimes everything isn't nearly enough. You were all.

3. I'm sorry. I'm very, very afraid, somewhere deep under my skin, and I can't feel it because I won't let myself. On top are glee and happiness and excitement and contentment and understanding and some odd blend of contentment, and I'm glad for that. Horribly glad. I don't give you enough. I waver from feeling like I have too much power over you to wanting to hide in your arms. There's something I didn't tell you.

4. I don't know why. I resent you, occasionally, I want to spill my whole self to you, occasionally, I want to hug you and hold you. That's where my inspiraspeeches come from, obviously. I don't know why I can be so honest with you, but I'm past caring if you want to hear it. I'm me. This is what I've got. I don't want what briefly was back, I don't fear change - quite - as much, but I want to know you. And I think you need to know me. Or you should.

5. For once, I don't have too many words for you, and I think it's because I've stayed away. You're all words, all music, all lyrics, all art - like she said, you were every song. You glow rather than shine now. I'm afraid I avoid you. I can tell you things I shouldn't be able to. I have written more about you than I have anyone, except him. Months and months later, I still miss the first days. I still miss the sun and the trees and the grass. Every word on my jeans.

6. I'm not always as patient with you as I should be, and I value you more than you know. I also occasionally disregard you or your troubles, just because of the way you present them, and I'm genuinely sorry for that. There was a conversation a while ago, right after you asked for advice about her situation, when things clicked and I made you happy and you made me happy and it was wonderful and the world glowed. I like to think about that. I like being right, I like being turned to. I will always try to help. Stop me from judging too much.