To fall, to fall, to fall, to fall…

It’s no secret I am depressed.  I feel I have lost something very valuable to me when in fact you might say that I chased you away.  And since we spoke last, I have been walking away.  I told you last year that I might have to leave – you said you’d understand.  Do you still?

I feel as if you have committed treason inside of me by planting dreams and ideas which will never be.  Worst of all, you gave me hope that something sacred exists.  Now, I am sure that it exists, but the price is daunting.

I asked a friend how I could send those dreams back to you, to be completed, and she said that it could free me of all this pain or drive me further into depression.  It could, but I won’t give up on life; I am committed to that.  But she asked, “So you are not going to fall again?”  I replied, “I think falling is required for anything to truly be great.  (If you have the time to waste, I have a whole diatribe about what it means to “fall in love”).  I hope I will fall again.  But I will never give up on life.”

When people think of “falling in love” they often get hung up on the word “falling”, as if they’re weak in the knees or something. Other people think it means you’re on the ground, as if you’re paralyzed or you’ve swooned or something like that (woe is me). But the phrase is “fall in love” which I find quite similar to “fall in combat”: in this scenario, “fall” is actually “felled” – as in “defeated”.


  • To cause to fall by striking
  • To kill

The best analogy I can make is from the movie “A Knight’s Tale”: jousting. We all carry ourselves (on our horses), trying to be fun or pretty or strong or “together”. But when you are struck (“touché”), you fall; off your horse. And off your horse, you are you alone. When you give up the mask, you are also changed.

So, to “fall in love” is actually “to be felled by love’s arrow” (or something witty like that). To fall in love is to let it touch you, and when it touches you, it changes you.

For most of my life, I never wanted to be special. I never wanted recognition, or awards, or anything unique; I was a wonderful workhorse just wanting to be the one that gets things done even when others didn’t think they could. But there was a point in all of this mess where I felt special, even without wanting it. I felt like I could fly, like I could do even more than I already did, like I was beautiful even if I did nothing. Even now, I know I am strong, smart, and passionate, and I can accomplish great things. But there is something which is so much more inside that feeling, and I am helpless under it.

I think the very first poem I put on here was Natural and I guess that’s just something I believe in which I cannot shake: there are relationships where the people fit together naturally and are better for it.

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Dear Harttz…

I love this town, but I really don’t see enough of it.

A moment ago I was driving to the store. It’s not dark but the lights are starting to come on, and in the night that is my favorite thing to see.

It reminded me of something you said over a year ago. We were looking at houses south of town, and you said this city had your heart.

I wish that was because it had me.

Goodnight moon. Goodnight stars.

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Go away from me

Go away from me
You’re a dream which can’t be had
Remind me of the dark.
Release me to the bad.

Nothing so fantastic,
And nothing so complete.
Nothing is inside of you,
Neither shared, nor discrete.

Nothing, even temporary-
In pieces or in part.
Wake me please-
or let me die-
for I do, dear,
I have, love,
a heart.

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Dear Harttz…


Do you remember when I helped you with your homework?  HTML, JavaScript, SQL Server, Java, C…

Do you remember when I loved you?  It was so easy to love you.

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The difference

I think I found the difference between us:

I think that she sees “us” as some perfect, past opportunity that she missed. Even though it is in the past, her mind remembers that relationship as “right” and reassuring and inspirational. I think sometimes that memory feels good and lets her get past what is blocking her right now. Sometimes, that memory escapes the bounds she tries to place on it, and she wants to know and to feel it again, to be reignited and pretend to actually have it in her hand.

But I don’t have that. So many times I’ve used the real words, my precious, valuable words to tell her how I feel, and what I get are someone else’s tuned, scripted lyrics. I don’t have memories of a dream that was fulfilled, I have the regrets of a dream I may never live.

Her memories are complete, and mine are broken.

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Dear Harttz…

For a long time I’ve wanted to write this story, despite its tragedy.  But I get distracted, and I make excuses, just like everyone else.

I don’t check your e-mail any more, but I can’t forget.  I was trying to remember one of those inspirational pictures on Monday (I didn’t).   But I actually, accidentally found it today.  Then, down the list, I found something else which read,”Sometimes it’s so hard and I just want to unmeet you.”

And then I thought about the pictures you used to make.  Do you remember this one?  I don’t know why the file name was 7-20-01.  Maybe it was July 2001, and maybe it was a month or so before I went to college.  And maybe, but only maybe… maybe it meant something.  About me, or us, or whatever.

Of course not.  You’re right. I’m sorry.

Of all the things I believed in during my life, why you?  Would you please take back all of those sweet, tainted memories?  Take all of the words, all of the artifacts, even our friends.

Please take them all away so I can pretend everything means nothing.

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Dear Harttz

Is this a play, some kind of portrayal?

I can barely remember the pieces of the story, but Super Bass (Nicki Manaj) just crossed my play list and I couldn’t help but remember those moments in April and May before I really lost it. (We?)  Do you remember those songs?  I’d be surprised if you forgot – I think you capture your memories in those pearls.

Do you remember sending me Lips of an Angel (Hinder)?  Years later I sent it to you and you already knew that you sent it to me.

Reciprocating, but still not whole.  Still not whole.

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So truly sorry.
Let me show you, please tell me.
I’ll do it, twice.

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Dear Harttz…

In science fiction, when someone breaks the air lock on the ship, the lack of pressure in space seems to suck everything out. That might happen in reality too, but the space nerds will correct you: the pressure that exists within the air lock actually pushes everything out into space.

Usually that happens on purpose, because people don’t want to be indiscriminately thrown into space. But normal space happenings aren’t what you read about, watch on tv, or play in the movies. There it’s a bullet, a missile, or a bomb that breaches the hull and the contents of the ship gnaw at it until inside becomes outside.

After this catastrophic collision, can you imagine floating in space, holding on desperately to your last breath as it tries to push its way out of your throat? That part is instinct, assuming you remembered to hold your breath in the first place. Could you remain calm while you float away from your life lines?

You are that collision, and I find myself fading in and fading out, passing out and waking up. I remember the moments before like Polaroids taped haphazardly to the wall: breathing was easy; no pressure at all; and the sun was a manageable prop. During… I haven’t the faintest idea what happened. After is so hard to describe: I am “here”, now, but I think I was “over there”, before. Relativity makes it seem simple, but as my only point of reference is floating away, I realize that this simple reference held everything I thought I was.

I keep thinking “what happens if I die?” but… what if I live?

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Dear Harttz…

Y’all ready for this?

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