To Sir 1/27/07

Today, on my way to class, I saw the moon, white against a cloudless blue noon sky. I've always loved seeing the moon in the middle of the day, beautiful where it doesn't belong. I think you might be the only one who knows that about me. I remember seeing the moon about the front of my old university as I walked down the main drive. I seem to remember always smiling, thoughs of you never far away when I saw that magical sight. I think I felt like that was some amazing gift you gave me, just being able to be in a place like that. When I threw it away, I think I was sorriest that I disappointed you, squandering the opportunity you'd given me. On the other hand, I feel like I have some hope of succeeding at this school this time around because I feel like I need to and I feel like I"m in the same boat as everyone else, trying to create my own opportunities and just get ahead alittle. But it's mine, all mine, whether I succeed or fail, and fuck everyone else.

Thursday I bought the latest Snow Patrol album. Track #6 makes me cry. I guess I imagine it is how you feel about me. "You could be happy, I hope you are. You made me happier than I'd been by far... Do the things that you always wanted to. Without me there to hold you back, don't think, just do. More than anything I want to see you go, Take a glorious bite out of the whole world." Unfortunately, I can't seem to sum up how I feel about you so well.

I've never wanted to not want you in my life, but I do. You saved me when I thought I could not be redeemed, but I can't adhere to your orthodoxy. I never could. (I"m not sure you can either, though.) I always wanted to believe, but faith has always exacted too high a price. But my god abandoned me long before I abandoned him.

And yet I live with your ghost everyday. Though I'm not sure if it's the ghost of you or the ghost of my image of you. Either way, it still remains. A voice in my head that is more than just an extension of my conscience but also the color commentator for my day-to-day. The opposition to every weakly-supported argument I concoct. The arms that hold me when I'm out of control. The hand that calms me, stroking my hair until I feel I can rest.

I have a new lover, of a sort, now. Our peculiar relationship forces me to re-examine my beliefs and prejudices, my fears and desires. My experiences have refuted many of your carefully crafted hypothesises. When each experience with my lover ends, I feel free and unencumbered in a way I've never known before. But I have little desire to share my every truimph with this new lover as I still do with you. I don't need to know their mind as I still yearn to know yours. I do not ache in the pit of my stomach for their companionship, for a favorable smile from their lips.

I am sorry.