Dear David,

I spent all night at the beach, making wishes. Yes, I know that throwing those coins into the sea wasn't exactly Environmentally friendly, and that it's supposed to be a well, but I was feeling unlucky, and I wanted to even the score. I walked the shore, just like normal, just like thousands of sandy miles hiked in dreams, and glanced back at my disappearing footprints. That's scary, watching your footprints disappear like that, lapped away by greedy, tongue-like, waves. Then again, I've always had trouble finding the markers of where I've been.

I didn't wish for you to come back, by the way. I wished instead to be seven again. For fortune and a humble version of fame. For my grandpa to come up from FL for a visit some time. For a box of donuts. I didn't waste any of my wishes on you, because I know you won't be back.

Find yourself. Why did you have to leave to find yourself? And why couldn't I help you look? You didn't look back quick enough if you're lost, I told you they disappear. Nevermind. I could draw you a map, if you like. You are here. Selfishness. I'm not on the map. I've got the feeling that I've never been on the map.

I was good for something though, wasn't I? I was always the beat puppy, but in a way I didn't mind it. It fulfilled my need to think that everything is my fault. Except it isn't, you know. I didn't make your mother leave you when you were four, and I didn't tell Madonna to refuse your date. But everything else I take full responsibility for. But not the holocaust, I never have gotten off on hurting people intentionally.

Oh, don't feel guilty now, it's too late for that. I'll get over you, by the time I'm 70, surely no later than that. Or maybe I already have. Or maybe I have nothing to get over. Maybe I'll cry on your cloying letters forever, or throw them away.

I didn't wish you, but I did scratch your name into the sand. With a piece of driftwood. High up the shoreline where the sand's barely damp, away from that greedy lapping tongue. That's when the moon caught on fire. It did, I swear. But the flames were just the wind tossed skirt on the goddess in the moon. She asked me to dance and I did, slowly, wondering if my wishes will come true. If they do, tell your new girlfriend that I'm sorry she suddenly went mute.

Love,

Ali

Ps. I'm sorry about the wombats too.

Dear David,

I've decided that I must be crazy. I was doing okay, you know, for months even. I was able to get through whole weeks without talking to you in my mind. I'd stopped having daydreams in which I cruelly introduced you to someone that I loved far more than I ever did you. I could listen to all my cds without remembering why they reminded me of you. I even stopped hating you.

But now, now that the shores have crumbled, I'm talking to you in my mind again, asking your advice, and listening to what I think you'd reply. It started out simply enough, I imagined that you married that girl, and had a child, but then she died, and I came to your rescue. Self serving dreams, hero role, but not unexpected. I still haven't forgiven you for loving someone else more. Oh but how I stumble! I sickeningly still believe you're my destiny.

You don't mind me lying to you, do you? I didn't think so.

Love,

Ali

Dear David,

Did you know that you don't have to take drugs to get high? It's funny sometimes, watching the ants go on their set courses. You're an ant, David. I'm thinking of shaking the farm.

Love,

Ali

Dear David,

I laughed when I heard that you didn't get into med school. I suppose that it's crass, but I can't help enjoying the fact that you suffered too. Enjoy your slice of reality pie, it's hard to swallow you know.

I'm waiting tables now, and besides the sore feet and pinches on my butt, it's not a bad job. I earn a lot in tips. Actually, I've got a tip for you too. Get over yourself. I may not write so often now, I met my new boyfriend at work. He tends bar. He's tall, and funny, and spontaneous. In short, he's a better man than you. His name is Tony, like the Tiger.

When we went to the zoo last night I saw all of them in a cage, and I felt sad. I was in a cage once, back when I still loved you. They pace, and I paced too, trying to think of ways to impress you. I was so pathetic then. So fuck you, I don't need you anymore.

Ali

Dear David,

I killed Tony last night. There wasn't any blood, and he died silently. Or maybe I didn't after all. He wasn't real you know, it was just a desperate attempt to make you jealous. I'm jealous, yes I am. Of you, of them, of everyone who's doing something I'm not, things I'll never do. I even envy suffering, because someone owns it.

I think I'm turning into a ghost, and I haven't even died. If I'd been trapped like those Turks I'd be more certain, but it's not real weight I feel. It's just the way people look through me. I'm running out of reasons to believe than there's anything that matters; faith isn't worth one damn. Even if we could all dance on the head of a pin, no one would come to this show.

Write back, goddamn you, I'm too lonely.

Love,

Ali

Dear David,

My heart isn't broken, but it's surely sprained. Do you think you could help me out? You won't, you won't, you'd rather my fever dreams consume me. I'll tell you, I think it's working. I'd call your number, but the rings told me to stop calling.

Some days I forget that I have no internal reality. You don't know what it's like to watch the world pass by in waves, and have all the solidness drift by too. I'm not even an island, no more than driftwood. Have you ever caught thoughts in a butterfly net? So many slip through the holes.

I love you, you love me, a big gay dinosaur molests kids for public tv.

Ali

Dear David,

Here's three cents- two are mine, and the other is for your thoughts. I saw a book that reminded me of you. It was on the side of the road, and the wind turned its pages. I want to be the wind that turns your pages; I want to be the author that writes your words. But I'm not that controlling.

Can you tell me what it's like to love an angel?

Ali

Dear David,

I went to a farm and chased the chickens. I stopped though, because I knew they are God's chickens, and deserve to be treated better than that. They're almost noble in their pursuits, actually, finding their keep by scratching in the ground. They don't know that the farmer left the corn though. Is God a farmer too? I must not be scratching hard enough.

Why don't you ever answer me?? I can tell you that I want you, love you, need you, and always silence. It's very humbling. I'd swallow tacks to prove my desperation to you, but you don't even blink. She can't mean that much to you, to keep you from me totally. Why'd you have to let go of my hand in order to take hers? Why aren't I enough for you? Why do I still love you?

Desperately,

Ali

Dear David,

I think the doctor was right. I'm going to leave this journal where you live. Though, I know you won't read it. The earth that blankets you is too heavy for you to break through, I understand that.

I just wish you'd let me know what was going on, how much it hurt inside. I could have helped you, even saved you. But you didn't let me have the chance. So selfish, David. I want you to know, I'll never forget you, not entirely. Tell Nana "hi" for me. I'm watching my back, Death's a bitch, even if she did invite you over for tea. See you in fifty or sixty years.

Love,

Ali