Dear Rachel

It's been a whole month since I blogged here. In the archive to the right, there's no May, like it never happened and that makes me a little more than uncomfortable. April apparently took a lot out of me, leaving May with hardly any energy for reflection. In hindsight, that is unfortunate, seeing as how I turned 17 and got my license and have been emailing this really cool boy and some bloggable retrospect would have been nice, but it's also irrevocable so we might as well move on.

Sorry if my end of our phone conversation was lame yesterday. I wanted to say so much but I'm holding back. I think a part of me is saving myself for seeing you in person. There are some things waiting on my tongue that are easier to whisper across a pillow than speak into the microphone of a device that's not really connected to anything but my hand. Is that okay, if we just keep our communications low key for the next two weeks? I want to spill it all, burst open with stories and excitement and everything I have but I want you there for it, for real.

Can you just hurry up and come home?

I'll tell you one thing now, something I know is silly. I'm a little worried. Worried that when you finally get here, implant yourself back into our lives, things will be... I don't know, different? Of course they'll be different, I know that, but I want us all to fit again. Not to pretend the last six months didn't happen, that we don't know what it's like to live without one another--I'm not asking for perfection, whatever the fuck that is. I just want it to work.

The louder part of me knows it will, that everything will be fine great fantastic. That our separate experiences will make our joint ones stronger. That everything we've learned without each other will make us better at being people. I know you're still Rachel, I saw my proof in March and get it constantly through your beautiful blogs and emails and voice. But are you still my Rachel?

How do you feel about this situation?

Fuck, I'm crying. I did a lot of that today but only because I was reading Melina Marchetta's latest novel. Mom gave up on it after one hundred pages but I am a sucker for the way that author rips out my heart and then hands it back to me on a platter. She has taught me so much, about love and depression and friendship and loss and hope and writing. Oh, how she makes me want to be a better writer, I can't even tell you.

Speaking of which, I'm feeling so good about my novel right now, Rachel. After Freewrite, I knew what I had to do and my story has such potential and I'm ready to do the work. I think. I just want to affect people. I want to be a great storyteller and for someone else to think and laugh and cry and feel less alone when they read about my characters. I want to be someone's John Green or Melina Marchetta. Maybe that's asking for too much but I'm not one to tone down my desires because they're getting a touch unreasonable.

I also want to go to Australia/Europe and work on an organic lavender farm, not necessarily inclusively or in that order. Presently, though, those are my dreams. Novel that changes/helps people. Australia/Europe. Lavender farm. I'm excited again and I love it. What are your current dreams?

I think I covered it all. I know this whole 'coming home' thing is probably bittersweet for you, as it means leaving the family you've had for the past half year of your life. Therefore, I hope it doesn't sound too insensitive of me when I say 15 days, 10 hours, 16 minutes--as I write this.

Infinity love + 1,
Alex

p.s. Is it okay that I, like, posted this on my blog? I'm really starving for topics these days but I can take it down if you like. :) Oh my god, I love you so much.