the time traveler's wife

as i turned the last page in my book my heart sank, and i needed to hear his voice. i reached beside me into a void in my purse where my cell phone should have been. i fumbled through pockets that house an abundance of paper, chapstick, and ink pens. my efforts turned up only my keys, which i took eagerly, flinging the door to my edit bay open, just to reach you. i had almost forgotten to ask permission, or merely inform my producer of where i was headed. as i reached my car i confirmed how predictable i am, my cell phone hidden under a pile of cds and strawberry mint gum. i began to dial your number but my cell phone did not respond. the battery had met its demise while waiting in the car. and for reasons seemingly unprovoked, i leaned my head against the door and began to cry.

i just needed to be near you. the character in the book was you, and in the book i was your lover, and the story ended so unpleasantly that i couldn't bear the idea of the characters ending up the way they had. i had gotten so involved between the pages of this book. it took nearly an entire night to recover from those pages; i wished they were endless. i wished the characters were invincible. i wished him and i were invincible. i wished we could be guaranteed to always be in love, and come home safely to each other. the book seemed to introduce me to the reality of knowing that one day him and i will have our last kiss. i cannot be comforted, even if i was told that our last kiss would be when we both will reach nearly 100 years old. i will never be satisfied with endings. my heart would break in 80 years the same as it would today.

i feel alive.

i feel like jumping on the bed. or telling someone a secret. but i keep no secrets, and this is certainly an improper time to jump on my bed. i don't recognize myself these past few days. i've been relentlessly spewing thoughts and questions. my bravery has taken most by surprise. i suppose that's why i'm so pleased with it, because i feel constantly underestimated. i suppose it's just leftover from the days where i was quiet, and could easily blend into the background of a party like wallpaper. now i suddenly want to tell you about myself, i want you to hear who i am. in case you've forgotten me, in case you don't understand me, in case you're curious to hear who i am, or what i was. i simply want to be unforgettable.

two weeks, two years, or just tonight.

i breathed a sigh of relief upon opening my mailbox. it's been weeks since my laptop was working but it feels like years, not for a lack of the ability to check my email, but because of the overflow of thoughts and dreams that have had no place to be written down. my hands are much too impatient to be writing things i am thinking at the speed of light. i don't know where to begin now, or what to say. i'm overwhelemed. i feel as though i've grown over the past few weeks, but i'm unsure i could describe how. maybe it's because boredom has driven me to start reading again and i've been engrossed between pages, and allowed myself the pleasure of becoming lost with headphones in my ears.

i'm awfully excited to be back.