Love Letter #15

My Love, 

I guess Illinois is for lovers too if you say it is.

I don’t know about going back to Church. I always thought it was a crock as you know but appreciated the ritual. Maybe that way I love astrology? I’ve tried to explain this to you before with minimal success—the pleasure of rubbing up against something, anything, that seems definitive when everything else is a morass of uncertainty. I don’t care if that thing tells me that I’m a bull and so everybody born in the month of May. It’s something to cling to. 


50 Ways to Leave Your Lover just came on the radio. I’m working on not taking things as a sign. In the wake of your departure and my own immanent one I feel myself gravitating towards pandering products of pop culture:

  • Passengers (that movie with Jennifer Lawrence)
  • Shitty Paul Simon
  • Articles about America’s porn habits

I’m moving away from the specificity of Cleveland and into the cloud of “America.” Its generality and familiarity serves as a kind of balm to my longing. I feel melodramatic and caustic in the face of anything that reminds me that the largesse of my feelings is entirely unspecific. 


Though, to be honest, Doug was the one who recommended I see Passengers—we both have a penchant for overly dramatic Space movies. So maybe Cleveland is actually everywhere. I do love you. You piss me off and I love you.