*locked to Frank*
Dear Poppa Bear,
So, I’m sure you’ve heard by now that I went a little mad. As you are aware, it happens semi-frequently.
The thing is, it’s different this time. Probably because my life is different than it was before. Likely because I’m a married woman now, with two children and the knowledge that if I hurt myself, I’m hurting two little girls, and a husband who loves me more than words can express. But I am hurting myself.
I’m sitting in a hotel room, again. Drinking, as usual. In fact, I’m surprised I’m even semi-coherent at this point, but something tells me that years of writing drunk has served me well. I’m making sense, aren’t I? I should be saddened by this (that I’ve written so many papers and letters drunk that I’m able to do this), but I’m not. I’m not feeling much of anything at the moment, and that my beloved Frank, is a blessing.
Oops. I meant not to say things like that. Any of it, really, but I’m melancholy and dramatic at the moment, and I’ve lost my tiny little mind, so I’m afraid this may wander into territory I wasn’t meaning to. I’m sure you’ll forgive me later. You always do.
Unless you don’t. Maybe you’re tired of dramatic Stephanie with her semi-frequent acts that harm those that love her. Maybe you’re sick of my stupid fascinations with you, and my love that crosses so often from daughterly into something more. Why is it that I can’t settle my mind on the fact that you are a father figure in my world, grandfather to my girls, and just be happy with that?
I asked for one night, and you gave it, willingly. And instead of accepting that gift and keeping it in my heart, I feel as if I lost something then. It wasn’t enough time, it wasn’t enough to soothe the ache I’ve felt in my heart since I was twelve years old.
Oh god, just ignore this all. I’m not trying to ask for anything more than you’ve given in the past. I would, but I know that it’s futile to even want it. I know you well, and I watch the way you watch Alice with that look of pure unadulterated love. And I know that that look will never turn to me in the same way. I suppose I should be grateful for it all. For everything you’ve given me, and for the many times you’ve saved my life.
I suppose it’s time I started saving myself, huh?
Consider this the last time you’ll have to hear about it. Consider it the last time anyone will. I’ll memory charm myself if I have to, or have August do it. I should have done that long ago, but I kept hoping… well, I’m not sure WHAT I hoped, but whatever it was, it kept me from doing it before.
Thank you, always. You’ve been my strength more often than you know, and my hope and dream far more often than I could ever tell you.
Always,
Stephanie
So, I’m sure you’ve heard by now that I went a little mad. As you are aware, it happens semi-frequently.
The thing is, it’s different this time. Probably because my life is different than it was before. Likely because I’m a married woman now, with two children and the knowledge that if I hurt myself, I’m hurting two little girls, and a husband who loves me more than words can express. But I am hurting myself.
I’m sitting in a hotel room, again. Drinking, as usual. In fact, I’m surprised I’m even semi-coherent at this point, but something tells me that years of writing drunk has served me well. I’m making sense, aren’t I? I should be saddened by this (that I’ve written so many papers and letters drunk that I’m able to do this), but I’m not. I’m not feeling much of anything at the moment, and that my beloved Frank, is a blessing.
Oops. I meant not to say things like that. Any of it, really, but I’m melancholy and dramatic at the moment, and I’ve lost my tiny little mind, so I’m afraid this may wander into territory I wasn’t meaning to. I’m sure you’ll forgive me later. You always do.
Unless you don’t. Maybe you’re tired of dramatic Stephanie with her semi-frequent acts that harm those that love her. Maybe you’re sick of my stupid fascinations with you, and my love that crosses so often from daughterly into something more. Why is it that I can’t settle my mind on the fact that you are a father figure in my world, grandfather to my girls, and just be happy with that?
I asked for one night, and you gave it, willingly. And instead of accepting that gift and keeping it in my heart, I feel as if I lost something then. It wasn’t enough time, it wasn’t enough to soothe the ache I’ve felt in my heart since I was twelve years old.
Oh god, just ignore this all. I’m not trying to ask for anything more than you’ve given in the past. I would, but I know that it’s futile to even want it. I know you well, and I watch the way you watch Alice with that look of pure unadulterated love. And I know that that look will never turn to me in the same way. I suppose I should be grateful for it all. For everything you’ve given me, and for the many times you’ve saved my life.
I suppose it’s time I started saving myself, huh?
Consider this the last time you’ll have to hear about it. Consider it the last time anyone will. I’ll memory charm myself if I have to, or have August do it. I should have done that long ago, but I kept hoping… well, I’m not sure WHAT I hoped, but whatever it was, it kept me from doing it before.
Thank you, always. You’ve been my strength more often than you know, and my hope and dream far more often than I could ever tell you.
Always,
Stephanie