Letter I Never Sent

In Association with LetteriNeverSent.com

Letter i Never Sent:: the dear issue Dan Bradley, Editor Kara Langone, Editor Kristie Langone, Editor-in-Chief Shaun O’Hearn, Art Editor John O’Neil, Editor Cover Illustration Kara Langone Layout Design Kristie Langone ISSN#1941-577X

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

“Were most of your stars out?

Were you busy writing your heart out?”

-J.D. Salinger, “Seymour: An Introduction,”

Editor’s Note Dear Readers,

Our 2-year anniversary publication is a special collaborative issue about

communication and lost connections. Founded by my twin sister, Kara Langone, letterineversent.com is a website that collects and archives letters buried in your head, heart and bottom drawer. This issue is filled with those letters, all compiled from the site’s 5 years of life.

When you walk into Kara’s house, you’re greeted by four text-filled

frames on the wall. What they contain is Seymour’s letter to Buddy Glass in J.D. Salinger’s novel, “Seymour, an Introduction.” Often at parties, family and friends curiously gather by the homemade display, drawn in by the large blocks of type she used to highight favorite lines. “I think I dream of you daring to jump right out of my sight” is one of them (along with the one used to preface the issue on the previous page).

Kara notices any onlookers almost immediately. She stops paying attention

to whoever she’s talking to in the kitchen because she’s half-paranoid and a quarter defensive that there’s not a Georgia O’Keefe painting on the wall: Is it such a curious thing to consider words art?

Kara is often asked, “Why are they letters never sent?” Because we need

to have a talk with the past before it unearths itself and buries us alive! — of course. Or, we need to get it off our chest without their ears. Maybe we even hope they’ll find the bottle in the ocean — addressed to them — and know we took that chance.

Fortune Favors the Bold, Kristie Langone Editor-in-Chief

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

letteriNeverSent.com

Dear You, You're finally here. If you're looking for directions or advice, I'm afraid I hardly have anything to offer. I'm just as lost.

This ain't no yellow brick road. Trust in yourself.

You'll find your way.

(Remember the breadcrumbs,) Kara Langone, letterineversent.com

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

“Mostly what I think about now is the constant tip-toeing across tightly strung highwires with only our words to balance us.�

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

the coming icestorm will freeze us all Dear You,

Mostly what I think about now is the constant tip-toeing across tightly strung highwires with only our words to balance us. God spare us both. I guess I’m just glad that we have so many words to choose from, each one a parachute fashioned out of old blankets and pillowcases.

There’s a place I want to show you along the Oregon coast. It’s got the right mix of gray and ocean — it’s the kind of place where you could sit and work on your novel while I skipped rocks into the water.

Love,

Me

--by 18hourswest, on earth, 01/13/2007

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dear dream We never stood a chance in the water. We were just too different. I jumped in naked, laughing and screaming, howling at the moon. You wore your socks, narrowed your eyes, and tiptoed timidly on the shore. I have never met anyone who is afraid of their own toes. Never mind the water.

- Insomnia

--by Someone, Woostah 07/27/2005

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

“We never stood a chance in the water. We were just too different.�

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keep the moon Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

“Keep the Moon” // Jemma Harwood

I’ll keep the moon for you, all you have to do is promise to come back.

--by Concept_happiness, Anywhere, 09/10/2008

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Amy, Do you remember the night we talked ourselves into the hole? I kept falling into that narrow space between the softness of the cushions and the spine of your couch. I hugged my knees to my chest like I could be casual at a time like this. You smirked as though you too were an adult.

Most people were sleeping.

You kept saying, “I don’t know.”

I don’t know why, when you sleep beside me, you feel as though you are plummeting from a steep rocky hilltop down towards wet earth. I don’t know why my hand on your waist stops the gravity.

I don’t know why there is intimacy without sexuality, love without a name, no peace in the absence of definition.

And I left on the verge of turning inside out. I drove my car up the access road. The streetlight had burned out. My car made a sound like dying, and then, without cause, it did.

I called you, and you came to get me.

We sat on the hood holding hands while men tried to pick us up. We were not happy, but we laughed like children. The tow truck came and the police man before that with his orange flares. I wanted to tell him that you preferred the darkness.

Because light made things all too clear.

--by Taylor56, here and now, 02/25/2005

“And I left on the verge of turning inside out. I drove my car up the access road. The streetlight had burned out. My car made a sound like dying...”

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

my car broke your heart

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7 weeks, 2008

dear embryo that, according to the books, weighs no more than a chocolate chip: Hi. – Hi! I’m terrified of you, ya know. Not late-night-burglar or plane-crash-in-the-Pacific terrified.

More like standing-in-my-undies-and-giving-a-speech-to-hundreds-of-people-aboutAntartica-Research terrified. But, what else? I’ve never felt more joy — yes, joy! — in all of my life. Maybe I came close at 12-years-old, floating in the middle of a lake, watching mermaids swim below me. Something magical is happening inside of me. You. All I’ve ever wanted, you.

Forgive me for the negative feelings I’ve been feeding you these early weeks. At first, I let familiar voices dictate my emotions. Boy did they suck the rush of excitement from me. They left me with guilt, sadness and shame. How could I allow them to poison us?

Why shouldn’t my loved ones be happy about you? Because an old white man in a cape hasn’t blessed your father and I with a certificate of approval (doesn’t 8 years count for something)? What about love — is that too unreasonable these rigid days? Is it because I have a credit card bill? Because I don’t make my bed every day? Oh, I know — I don’t drink milk. I’m just not ready, right? Answer me this: Who is ever ready for the greatest gift of her life?

I’m trying hard not to be vindictive or angry. I’m forgiving the people who hurt us. They’re just worried, I know. But their worry is the worst kind: a dreadful worry!

I’m going to do better with you, dear one. I won’t force you to be afraid of life — to be ordinary and safe. I want you to trust yourself. Push yourself. Live! Understand and know every deep, dark, beautiful experience this world has to offer. Explore. Feel free to become yourself.

I won’t be a perfect parent. Who is? I’ll mess up. I’ll let you down. And you can count on being grounded if I catch you sneaking in your bedroom window. Know this though: I will never. Ever. Make you feel like a disappointment. I cherish you too much. And I know what it’s like to live reaching, trying so hard to make your parents proud. You don’t have to try so hard! I’m already proud of you, chocolate chip.

I love you. No strings, religions, social structures, or rules attached. I love you and your father. More than mermaids. More than anything.

We’re in this life together, Mom --by bun in the oven, MA, 01/04/2008

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

“I love you. No strings, religions, social structures, or rules attached. I love you and your father.

More than mermaids. More than anything.�

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Life pt. 2 Dear Narco— Sorry to give you that pretentious lecture about what’s important in life. I feel it only fair to point out one major inconsistency in my story — namely that I am entirely full of shit. My act consists mostly of cobbled together pieces from other people’s routines that I have somehow made my own.

If you’d like to know the truth, I live in constant fear that some nice gentleman is going to tap me on my shoulder and declare — in public, mind you — “dear sir, you haven’t had an original thought of your own since you were SIX.” And he will be right.

My life is a mixture of fascinations. Baseball. The Andy Griffith Show. Criminals and people on the fringes. I steal from the carnies and the priests, hoping God forgives me my trespasses as I forgive those who trespass against me.

Everything of value I’ve ever told you was probably lifted from Salinger or Raven Mack or Bill Hicks or this guy I used to work with over at North Farm Co-op. If it was my own material, I wouldn’t trust it any farther than you could throw it, because it sure as hell isn’t market-ready in any meaningful way.

You might think that’s some kind of self-depreciating bullshit.

But it’s not.

What the hell do I know about anything? I’m old and often miserable. I’m chasing ghosts I can’t ever catch and instead of giving up the pursuit, I tell myself that I’d much rather induce a heart attack and get the whole miserable thing over with before anybody figures out that I am a fraud. So I keep running away from people and places and commitments because I’m afraid to destroy somebody else’s tree fort with my cardiac arrest.

Of course the Saudade is a bitch sometimes and I think back to the people I really wanted to tie myself to and how they all had a habit of disappearing sooner or later. I’ll tell you straight up—those times didn’t kill me, but they were catastrophic.

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

You can love and be sad at the same time. Peff hepped me to something big when he laid the whole Saudade thing on me.

Anyway, I’m glad that somebody gets a kick out of my one liners every now and then, but really, there’s nothing cool or romantic about my 24 hours. It’s a mess and all the king’s maids couldn’t clean me up at this point. But that’s not even really part of the argument because if they showed up at my door, I’m quite sure I’d just put up the “Do Not Disturb” sign and go back to watching reruns I’ve watched a hundred times before, hoping for a different outcome.

There’s a metaphor for you.

Love, Ronnie Briggs and the Rest of the Thieves

--by 18hourswest, on the fringes, 09/08/2008

“I’m chasing ghosts I can’t ever catch”

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dear hyde i could spend my life with you. if i had enough painkillers. with the only love i’ve left, the girl on the couch --by mevsyou, boston, 05/07/2006

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every time you have a beer I listen to your shit.

Everyone has a past, damn it. And yes, I have good ears, but I’m sick of listening to the same damn relationship tune: — So and so is stuck on ex #1, who was really the love of their life, but they screwed it all up cause they were immature/ doped up/ confused. Enter 5 years of regret — X meets the millionth Y who can’t seem to shake the time Z cheated on them with the rest of the alphabet. They still have night terrors and tremendous issues with trust (sob, sob, sob) — John Doe’s parents got divorced when he was 5, so now he feels incomplete/ cursed/ jaded at the altar of love and can’t seem to commit/ think straight/ stop crying, etc. — Soul mate #10 turned out to be (a) married, (b) a liar, (c) the King of Thieves, (d) an ex-con, (e) really a man, (f) really a woman, or (g) under 18 and, since then, ‘love’ just doesn’t seem the same — (sigh).

Doesn’t anybody run with their gut anymore?

Doesn’t anyone come out of love alive?

Squash the past. Drink your beer. And shut up.

--by Someone, Woostah, 11/09/2005

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

Doesn’t anybody run with their gut anymore?

Doesn’t anyone come out of love alive?

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“I tend to lay things on thick when my heart gets involved.�

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

double tree suite I passed a Double Tree this morning on my way to work. I smiled. In my head I saw you swimming your laps in the pool.

I heard you laughing at me for having a panic attack in the sauna. I even felt your hands rub up and down my thigh as we sat in complete relaxation in that jaccuzzi. Though we didn’t spend that weekend according to plan, it was the best birthday I have ever had. To think I was scared to ask you to come.

I hear your voice out of nowhere sometimes. It replays in my head, certain pieces of a conversation, your out-of-nowhere comments, or sometimes I hear the gentle way you breathe when you sleep. Crazy, isn’t it? How the mind remembers things like that more vividly than my heart can still feel the indents you made on it. If only you were here. Mi corazón.

How did we manage to stick together for so long only to fall apart?

Now that I’m reading all those letters and poems that you inspired, but never got a chance to read, I think I understand.

I tend to lay things on thick when my heart gets involved.

Forgive me if I thought our friendship was stronger than the hearts we could not follow!

Te Quiero Mi Amor. Te Quiero -by Conflicted1031, Queens, NY, 10/18/2005

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“...try not to miss the soles of my feet on the pavement. They’ll have a hard enough time finding their way to GONE.”

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

The Right After Michigan Dear Tupelo Road, It's almost here. And here I am. Changing. Tossing the outfit I've worn for three years into the corner for the last time. Wiping the dust off the boxes in the back room. Writing “WINE GLASSES” in sharpie over the pencil-scratched “X-MAS DECORATIONS.” It's down to days — hours, really. And then it's good-bye.

Promise me the door will stick no matter what the landlord does.

And try not to miss the soles of my feet on the pavement. They'll have a hard enough time finding their way to GONE.

-Seven --by Estrellas, Between sleep and dreams, 03/21/2006

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I want to change the world I'm buying a map, but I'm not sticking tacks in it like the people in the movies do when they dream of getting out; I'm cutting out California and pasting it to the right of Massachusetts, hoping to keep your dream alive, next to mine.

--by back east, the rocking chair, 07/10/2006

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

“Change the World” // Igor Skekic

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“I’m saying that you changed my life. I’m saying that you probably saved

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

nate We were both broken that summer — you from too many car conversations with Jody, me from too many with Justin.

We shadowed each other all day, talking while the jugglers practiced and Travis tried his new card tricks on us.

Nights we smoked pot and talked and listened to jazz.

One night after we both laughed at the same instant over one of John Coltrane’s jokes, you marvelled that I was not just a musician — a small kindness.

Sometimes we went to parties. After the barbecues were done, we would sneak off to lie on the damp grass, watch the sky, and talk quietly over the distant and comforting hum of air conditioners. When the birds started to sing, we might go to Waffle House for raisin toast with apple butter and giant plates full of little hamburger pickles. We always paid separate checks.

We might go to my house and play fetch with the cat until we both fell asleep. I never knew what I was to you that summer when you spent all your time with me. I know, though, what you were to me: salvation. The turning point.

Is it too sad to say that no one had ever been so kind to me before? That no one had ever been so consistently attentive? It took awhile, but the way you were with me got me thinking that I might, after all, deserve kindness.

That I deserved...anything at all.

I’m saying that you changed my life. I’m saying that you probably saved my life. I’m saying this to the empty and echoing web, because I never heard where you went.

Thank you. Thank you. And...I loved you that summer. It just never seemed right to say so.

my life.”

--by aamurusko, Berkeley, CA, 03/12/2005

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When?

When is the wind going to bring you my way? When are you going to share my bench in the park at lunch, or an elevator for two down to the lobby at night? When will I get to be the gentleman who helps you pick up your fallen groceries on your walk home, or tries to fix the heel of your shoe as you stumble, losing it as you step off the curb? When will our laundry get mixed up at the landromat, turning both our faces red as we sort out our underwear from the pile?

Where are you? Are you in Florida? — because I’ll stay. In Maryland?

— I’ll move back. You’re more important to me than my wonderful job or quaint little apartment. I need you, and once I meet you, I know I won’t be able to live without you. So, where are you? Show yourself, please!

I’m fueled by the hope of meeting you, loving you, spending the rest of my life with you. Whisp through my door like autumn leaves on a cool October day. Or, if you’re in Florida, sneak through a crack in my door like roaches on a humid summer night.

--by adamjit, Tampa, FL, 05/10/2005

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

“When is the wind going to bring you my way?”

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“And I hear songs and voices, and sometimes even half-familiar laughs.

And for a small part of a second, I feel like you’re here.”

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

faded jeans and thunderstorms I left in January and headed back east, happily, because I was sick of being alone. There. And while it was only one week, it was a bad week; a long week. I missed home, but I wasn’t going back there. It felt too much like vacation now, and I just didn’t belong in that town anymore at twentyone.

But that’s beside the point. I miss you.I left too quickly, and for the week I was there, I was almost someone else. I didn’t want it to be that way. I should have said more. I knew it too. Too late. The next days were long, and I continued to analyze again and again what might have been. But what a waste of time.

Every morning I still smell the rustic scent; that mixture of sweat and cologne and saltwater. I miss the weather too, but who cares. Everyone misses the weather. But I see tshirts sometimes, and street signs, faded jeans and thunderstorms. And I hear songs and voices, and sometimes even half- familiar laughs. And for a small part of a second, I feel like you’re here.

--by Amy J, Chicago, IL, 07/18/2007

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“As long as we’ve got a sight point on the horizon, it can’t be all that bad. If only I had a steadier hand to guide the ship.”

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

september’s lament Dear Wayne, It’s been a few years since we last ran into each other. I hope you are doing well.

We drove down from Delaware last weekend to see the Karate Kidz open for some Def Leppard cover band. It was as painful as you might imagine, but nobody said being the rock critic for a weekly newspaper was going to be the Molly Hatchet experience every week. I still think I’m drunk from the last time anyway.

Neil asked about you. I told him that you had it good now and that you and your old lady were expecting another kid any day now. He asked if you had room in the house and I told him we could all move in and it’d be ok. But I told him I wasn’t authorized to make the invitation and that he shouldn’t expect you to extend one, either. I think he’s finally back on track but when Amy left, she really did a number on him. If you ever see him, don’t ask about her.

This summer I was supposed to make it back to Toledo for a long weekend at my parents house, but first I couldn’t make it, and then when I rescheduled, my mother told me that they had something going on in Akron, more than likely, and she’d call me to let me know. Well, she never called, and I never got in my car, and now another year has passed and I wonder what they’ve done to my old room and if I’ll ever see it again.

I never thought any of us would see forty. Now that I’ve seen it, I wish I hadn’t. Actually, that’s not true. I’m still glad to be out here even if I’m a little disappointed with where I am.

As long as we’ve got a sight point on the horizon, it can’t be all bad. If only I had a steadier hand to guide the ship.

You know what I’ve been thinking lately? I’ve been thinking Fuck the Internet. I made the mistake a few weeks back by signing up for Facebook. I found half the graduating class of St. Ingatius is off doing things, or pretending to do things. I think the other half is dead. I’m not sure what group I belong to.

I hope you and the wife make it up this way sometime soon. There’s a Comfort Inn right up the street (close enough to walk), and I’d really like to catch up. I know we always talk about it, but I don’t want to look back on my life some day and see a whole calendar full of missed appointments and penciled-in dates...

Raise one for the class of 86, Fat Paul -by TerribleToo, Outer Momgolia, 09/01/2009

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2 o’clock Tuesday I need chapstick or you won’t want to kiss me tomorrow when you get off the plane. You’ll say — I was only gone 5 days...what happened? — I’ll tell you how I rearranged my shoes by color, phased out the chunky clogs, popped a zit and drank 4 pots of coffee.

I’ll tell you that I never answered the phone when it rang. That it rained too many days. You’ll say — I know it sounds lame, but I missed you.— I’ll dig through my satchel, avoid your eyes, fish for my chapstick under ticket stubs and receipts.

Your words will swarm ‘round my head like flies.

I’ll give it time... nod and reply — Tell me all about Texas. ­­— --by abcgum, the seat of my pants, 09/04/2006

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

“Your words will swarm ‘round my head like flies.”

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dear simon it defeats the purpose of running away if you insist on coming with me.

--by rainy_dayz, MN, 01/15/2009

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a christmas message The reeds have dried and fallen. Along the fence they lie, the bleached and jumbled limbs of thin men. The water of the pond moves septic; now the robin no longer dips his wing.

Life sulks in the wood.

I watch from my table pushed to the window. It doesn’t hurt. Not any more.

I’m staying up late tonight, writing letter after letter. Each finished, I offer to the fire before the ink can dry.

I’m using my good pen, the one you gave me at Christmas. I watch the paper curl and crude shades of sepia skitter up the chimney.

I watch and hope that you, walking back through the trees, might spot the smoke.

I stay up late and hope the wind might trick me into hearing your hand at the gate. I drink whisky and savour its reminders.

I write and imagine your hand, strong, your breath on my neck.

The leaving was rushed and you forgot to say goodbye.

--by Tim Kenny, Manchester, UK, 07/24/2007

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

“Fallen Angel” // Igor Skekic

“ I watch and hope that you, walking back through the trees, might spot the smoke.”

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I should have kissed you.

--by spreadmywings, Lost in my own world of me and him, 08/26/2008w Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

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sometimes i wonder

where ya been

if I’ll die by train or sky

It’s amazing how fast life goes by while you’re

under the weight of doing,

standing still...

or the unbearable levity

--by mywhiskeygirl, lostinthought, 06/29/2009

of dreaming alone --by Taylor56, Somewhere, Texas, 01/10/2006

im sick of wondering “what if”

why aren’t you sorry..

--by spreadmywings, Lost in my own world of me and him, 08/27/2008

I don’t know about you, or what you feel, or where this is going. I only know that I have a recurring fantasy that you ask me to move across the ocean for you and that I’m bold enough to say yes.

--by amberance, Chicago, 08/26/2009

In Wonderland If the rabbit had been a man—Alice would have stayed.

--by EmTheInvisible, Oregon, 02/28/2006

come down off that moutain dear beautiful person; you must come down and be viewed for your spectacular you.

-your friend with wide sholders and a big heart

--by aped, melrose, 03/03/2008

God, if there is a next life... and she's not in it. ...make me into nothing.

--by somebody, in my room, 07/09/2006

Bigbrother/dad/uncle/grandpa/boss ...I know it sounds weird, but I shudder to think what might’ve happened if you hadn’t found me first.

--by SleepUnwisely, Mars., 09/07/2008

Should I Never Walk This Road Again Should I never walk this road again Could you let go of everything I’ve said?

Dear friend,

Dear Mom (Letter 1)You could turn all the televisions in the world on, but the silence would still be too much for you.

--by rainy_dayz, MN, 11/28/2007

--by quietasajen, Hoffman Estates, IL, 02/28/2005

Each of your atoms are 12 billion years old.

And yet.

There's never been a person like you.

So be patient, hun.

Part of you was once a sun; maybe there's still

Listen you should have listened to your heart when I was speaking to your ears.

--by lafinatme, Anywhere but there, 12/21/2005

Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

some left.

--by Rebecca Keys, My heart, 01/18/2008

life

No Guts

Its not that lifes so short,...it’s just your dead

I wish I had the guts to finish a poem about you.

so long.

--by smile_on_the_outside, NY, 11/13/2008

--by donnyakaa, Orange County, 01/02/2006

messed up

Distanced Bridged By Poetry

so you’re back. shall i take your coat?

I am here.

how long will your stay be this time...

you are not here.

--by Gutless_And_Cute, canada, 02/02/2007

you are reading my poem.

--by meraz, los angeles, 10/04/2006

I am a beautiful letter traveling around the world in a tightly sealed envelope.

--by twilightsparkling, neverland, 02/27/2008

Don’t hold back The things that come to those who wait, may be the things left by those who got there first.

--by Reegs50, Where the heart is, 02/14/2005

do-over let’s start a brand new world, just you and me.

--by blueeyedgirl, midW, 02/16/2007

and i... well i miss you... dear you, if i don’t see you face to face some time soon, it might break me.

--by daydream believer, atop the west tower, 10/07/2007 White Wash On the ice, you wished you saw another, on the ice.

--by next exit, 01/09/2006

I don’t want to ruin this The story of our meeting is extraordinary. The universe is practically screaming that we were meant for each other. And yet, I still feel like I am trying to keep a soap

Ode 4 the Road Dear Road, There is no friend like you. You never run out on me. You go on forever. You don't lie: there are signs

bubble alive. Stretch it too much, move too fast, and it disappears, like it never existed at all.

--by xanto, Earth, 07/18/2007

telling me all about you. You say things like, "only 11

s—

more miles to freedom man.” You never try to keep me.

If friends were only names scribbled on slips of paper, I’d crumple yours up and toss it out my car window.

--by seated & wandering, suburbia, 08/09/2007

You look most like yourself in the rain.

--by 9 X Vindicated=, The Boiler Room, 03/22/2006

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Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

can i keep you.

-LetteriNeverSent.com

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“Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.”

­—Theodore Roosevelt

the

2010 Literary Fever \\ Issue 4: Letter I Never Sent

the risk-taker's issue

FortuneFavors

eBOLD submissions@literaryfever.com

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ISSN#1941-577X