Note: Letter I wrote to my friend Spooky on August 29th at 9.12am. I’m only posting this because I’m very afraid of losing it. Lots of repetitions, inexistent words and ramblings but I don’t give a fuck. This is for him and me.

Dear Spooky,

I’m currently on the brink of hilarity but at the same Time, ready to cry. Everything just seems bittersweet.

The Sun is slowly trying to creep up but nite seems suspended in Time, as if each blink represented a century of dulled pain.

Sometimes, there’s a blue marble staircase, it shines white. And you go up, step by step. Each Time, you forge if you will ever get to the top and if it’s Heaven or Hell. You just know you have to keep going on and on. An escalating drug.

I’m freezing and should close the window but deliberate cold has always been a sort of comfort to me. It just depends on the moment. It can make you numb although truly alive when it’s the right Time. Something addicting about chills and shivers that don’t come from fear. Almost beautiful, almost..

There is an airplane that is so far away, it looks like a crawling shooting star. Maybe this is what immortality feels like.

I’m wondering if the three songs I’ve been listening to all nite have infiltered me and turned me into music. Impossible but it seems like something I’d love experiencing. Being the soft tremble in a semi-screaming voice, husky or rauque from an overwhelming emotion. I’d live for a second but what a life. Almost to the point of insane perfection. Smoke encircles my shoulders and head, maybe it’s my aura finally showing it’s a foggy blue-grey.

There was a bird flapping in the gutter. I leaned to catch a glimpse, curious to see why it seemed so trapped. It flew away and instead of the pigeon of my thoughts, a jaybird flew away with pure white trimmed wings. It blinded me like the Sun and maybe that’s what innocence is all about.

Many “almost”s and “maybe”s but I almost fear perfection because I know it’d make me cry. Trembling legs and incoherent thoughts lifting me to a new height. I’m aware I could die of it. And maybe that’s what always makes it beautiful. That burning edge you dance on between bliss and unbearable pleasure as you close your eyes, pretending to fall. And perhaps, you will one day, with the sky collapsing on you and city lights flashing through your memories. The long forgotten taste of a kiss that meant the world making the hundreds of storeys down flight painful from intense eternity. This probably doesn’t make any sense, I’m not sure.

Love,

Julie.

Note: The songs in question were:

Tori Amos: Silent All These Years.

Manic Street Preachers: Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head.

Manic Street Preachers: Suicide Is Painless. (MASH Theme Song)

Not my usual style of music but they have enrapt me, especially the last. You should all dl them, read the lyrics and look up on Richey Edwards. He is a fascinating boy.

My birthday is September 5th and his, the 16th. Happy birthday to us.