Dear Sam,

I found this stapled to my sister's dresser while visiting her in Newport:

The irony of commitment is that it’s deeply liberating – in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.
- Anne Morriss

If only it wasn't so true.

Love, Sam

Dear Sam,

The most immediate thoughts in my head are this: That we are light years away, that I am somewhere past the not-really-a-planet-pluto, and you are still all the way down on earth in some town called Orinda, and it's gotten hard to see you. It feels like I've distanced myself so much that I'm struggling to get inside my rocket and come back home. And the one person who I don't want to distance myself to is already suffering the distance. I hope next year it will get easier. I know it seems quite the opposite, but I think we can make it work.

Love, Sam

i'm sitting on my doorstep wishing the night was warmer, the stars less bright, i've got goosebumps and my eyes hurt. look at me. i'm the sad figure in the distance, grotesquely alone against the empty horizon. i'm whispering names to blank stares. if only i could be missed by the people i miss. there was a time when i had a hand to hold, hair to stroke, a smile to kiss, now i'm distorted like your televison's static, just some left over radiation from the great big bang. i'm some outdated piece of evidence and i just want someone to find me.

that's all i've got,

Sam