grace.

way to make my day, my so-called life.

carrying ciabatta rolls in your back pack.

dear christine,

you're gone. you think i don't know but you're in italy. you think no one knows. i bet tania knows. i saw the italy tour guide in your bedroom whenever it was i visited you. february? i don't quite remember. i'm sure it's italy and i'm sure you're alone, run off in a flurry that you created yourself, the flap of a butterfly's wings to the rest of the world.

tell me: is it romantic?

is it art?

is it all the perfection of a sharpened number 2 pencil and all the self-exploration of my so-called life?

i know you have run away or else you have simply not answered my phone calls and e-mails. sure, maybe you lost your phone and got a new e-mail address. these things happen i am not naive. in the same category: maybe you do not want to see me anymore. i do not mean to flatter myself when i say that this option seems unlikely.

following that thought: i want you here. with me. now. i hope, sincerely, that if you have run away and you are in italy, that it is everything you want and need, but i feel like i so badly need you with me now. i miss a lot of people right now, in varying degrees and for various reasons, but you are undoubtedly top of that list of people i miss.

i need a cool girl to talk to and laugh with and sit by the lake with and smoke with and make jokes with and watch my so-called life with and or any one of those and

shit it's all so pre-teen

but feeling out of place,

too opinionated (or something) to be popular and to square to be hip (in the good way)

it never goes away, and i think we're a little bit the same.

goddamn i have things to tell you and i know it's somehow narcissistic to want to be with some one you see as vaguely similar to yourself, but i want to tell you things and hear your answers. i don't care what jennifer has to say or ewelina. they are so five years ago. i want to tell you that i watched rachel getting married and i chose our wedding song. not yours and mine. but, well, whatever. while i watched that long fucking wedding scene at the end, i thought that if i ever were to marry him (impossible), i figured out the song that we would dance to. and i just wanted to tell you that.

so i hope your life is treating you well. i really do and i really hope you will tell me whenever you can see me again. even if it's as far away as september or october.

so,

much love,

and musings and salami and fine art and large loaves of bread,

and more love,

emma.

your underwear is showing. there is hot caramel in your bangs.

how did that get there?

whowherewhat.

her, that one, the perky smile, the south side accent, high ponytail, and loud shoes. her.

standing next to that tattooed man with the dragon necklace.

you really like me?

one hand on my cell phone the other on my heart. break for typing.

"Hello all! Ahh very excited, but just let me know when to expect you so that im not showering/wearing my retainer etc :)"

i got that text message this morning.

i don't know who it's from. nope.

i have one guess. but the part about "expect you" and "retainer" don't make sense with that person.

when you are hiking down dock street try not to hit the tourists. don't second-hand-smoke-kill their babies after a long day. don't look at those people on the boats and wonder when one of them is going to jump off that huge fucking ocean(lake)liner to their imminent demise in the LAKE. when you look away they will cast anchor and you nod. yes, there went their body. i heard it hit the water and according to half a dozen philosophies, i'm sure, if i never turn around then it surely was their body and i can't be convinced otherwise.

was i stood up?

was an hour too long to wait?

did you buy me a beer and then end up drinking it yourself and leaving ten minutes before i got off work and fifty minutes after you got off work? did you bike to pilsen wishing you hadn't while i stared forlornly at the chairs packed on to the tables and the lights all out at the billy goat tavern and grill cheezborgercheezborgercheezborger the outer porch patio all locked up. so i mistook a bro on a fixed-gear with a handful of facial piercings for you and he mistook me for someone else and stopped his bike and asked if we had met at...........

me: no oh, i don't know you, i'm waiting for someone who looks like you i thought you were someone else

bro: oh ha, yeah, i just did the same to you,

me: okay well, goodnight!

bro: yeah, nice bike,

me: thanks, you too.

COME BACK. i want to ride home with you. with anyone i don't know.

i guess i'll just call her back, that x-best-friend from grade school, oh my gosh, is that your live voice on the other end of the phone? it is! omgggggggg. oh my goshgoshgoshgoshgoshgoshgoshgosh. i don't take the fucking lord's name in vain no. i use fifties slang and hold down a summer job. mmmmmmmkay?.

listen chica, i'm excited and terrified. us four gals are gonna have to talk a mile a minute to catch up with each other. can we do it. i just stripped that retarded nude nail polish off my nails this morning. less wind resistance. i'm gonna need it.

(but pause okay.... i need boy advice. for realz. now i want to tell ya'll a story i need ya'll to do that girly shit where everyone sqeals and then i need ya'lls' help. understand?)

I GET THE CAR TONIGHT. suck it. i get a nice long drive way the fuck out north west from the neo-futurarium and you bet i'm gonna be singing the whole way. singing at the top of my lungs taking breaks to curse like hell at the assholes in the street. oh man, blackhawks-drunk street assholes.

i'd like to coat my arms in hot fudge and give you all a hug. it would be warm and messy, which is one of the best ways to be.