Re: [postcard: gin & tonic]
[Another photograph, this one better preserved and glued to a piece of paper with scalloped edges.]
The only reason people think dirt doesn’t smell so complicated is the limit of human senses. Not that I’m so sure you’re a human. Or that anyone is, really. Perhaps with better senses, humans could smell the stardust we’re all made from. Big bang to bones, there goes that cycle turning around again in silent orbit.
Sometimes I wonder whether I was ever meant to be good. It seems to me the farthest thing from simple. Easier, of course. Sometimes literally in viscera, but not for a long time now. And never without a reason. I guess that still rules out the question of goodness, but I think that’s important to mention.
None of the above. It’s more complicated, and terrifying. To know love, a heart’s ache like this — it’s the best and worst thing that’s ever pulled my life so wildly, violently off course. Every love in my life has taken me by surprise, but sometimes those sunday mornings leave me feeling raw and wide open to all the grit and sediment of the world.
[A piece of blank paper is folded and taped to the back of the photograph at the bottom edge, allowing the message to be continued.]
Not always, no. I think I’d like to be bitter more than I am soft and saccharine, but I keep failing at that. Keep letting people in when the gates should be shut tight. When I should know better.
I won’t tell you sorry, because that doesn’t help. I know. And I don’t know, at the same time. It would certainly mean more of the viscera, were it me.