Love Letter #16

Its sounds beautiful there. Love made visible can really be something, even in the confines of a wedding. Speaking of which, I’ve been trying on what you gave me in Toledo and thinking...

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Your visit

Love Letter #11

Congratulations!! I'm proud of you. Do you want to do it? Should we visit first? I keep on trying to remember that my life is real, that our life is real and that uprooting it would be hard, painful even. But also the second I met you I knew I'd go places for you, with you. You've never seen me out of my element though, I mean really out and it scares me to think what that would look like. 

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Love Letter #10

I suppose this is real life--the opposite of euphoria. Saw another concert last night at Transformer Station—the gallery owned by Fred and Laura Bidwell. It blew my mind. Video artist Kasumi worked in collaboration wit this organization called Chamberfest Cleveland that does classical concerts all over town. It was so stimulating it nearly put me into shock. I went back to the text later that was projected on the screen and the words cling to me:

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Love Letter #9

Love to me always happens outside of time but then we live in time. And having studied love, having worked in love, knowing what I do, it has become complicated. Like, what if you worked on a train for a living—riding the rain would still be the greatest pleasure but there would also be something about it that felt like you knew too much, right?

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Love Letter #8

I’m sorry you’re low. I know how it is. I don’t mean to recede. It scares me this thing we've got going on. I’m not good with fast moving vehicles and points of no return. I always keep my helmet on and my eyes straight ahead. I had a dream about that other person I used to love last night—we were on a swing set and it felt close, so close, and then I realized what was happening, that I was falling into something that looked like an ocean but was actually an emotional tar pit and I woke up. 

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Love Letter #7

It’s past the point of no return. I should have never watched I Love Dick. Fuck, I never should have read I love Dick! You’re on my mind all the time now, consuming, confusing, captivating. It’s almost gross. Art is the antidote, the damp rag to clean up the sloppy mess of pleasure. 

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Love Letter #6

Thank you for understanding. I will keep publishing and promise not to give out your name, only the exact coordinates of your address like they did in S-Town. Just kidding!

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Love Letter #5

I guess, and we’ve talked (fought) about this before, there is a part of me that is fundamentally public, for better or for worse, and it’s public about things that most people keep to themselves. My body, insecurity, heartbreak and the reaches of my love for you. I question my desire to share these things all the time—is it a symptom of narcissism, a pandering to the male gaze (in the case of photography), an oversharing attempt at relevance?

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Love Letter #4

My love, 

Onwards into the great deep blue. Shame still arrives and retreats. I wonder, should I be publishing our intimate communication on a blog? Is that right? Does it cheapen our love? How do you feel about that? 

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