Wreath Wraith,

I feel far from you. More so than I ever have, perhaps. I’m not sure what’s perpetuating the distance. It’s me, and it’s you, of course—but there’s something just beyond us, too. There’s dark energy driving us apart.

Can you believe we’re here again: ignoring ads for the holiday season? 2010 has come and gone quickly and quietly, though not uneventfully. It has passed like a flu, feverishly.

You have moved, more than once, since this year was born. You have met people, and left people. You have hurt and been hurt, I feel. You have made a number of resolute plans, and broken them. You have eschewed. Whom? What? I wish I knew.

I have loved, and unloved. And I find myself on the brink of giving and asking for a type of commitment that I haven’t entertained in over 3 years (as if that’s some sort of feat). I find myself longing for a life that I once killed (metaphorically) to escape from. And for some reason, no dissonance accompanies that pining. My identity feels intact. And most profound and unfamiliar, I do not feel panicked, manic, irrational, immature, naïve, or fretful. I feel as though I’ve earned the right to long for and plan for this life, this path. I feel as though I have things that I can exchange for a place in the life of my lover—for instance, a place in my life for him.

Does that make me a traitor? This new found confidence? These conventional desires and goals? I feel as though you won’t approve. I feel as though you’d evade this topic if we were speaking to each other with our voices right now… We’d end up in more abstract terrain, the kind with imaginary mushrooms rather than edible ones.

I wish to hear from you.

I long to see you.

I love you.

--MistleMiss