So I’ve been sitting here, at my dining room table, staring at this torrential downpour of a tropical storm, thinking about you, and how right now, if you woke in time for your flight, are halfway around the world. More specifically, I have been dwelling on what I would say to you if I had one letter in which to do it. Do I tell him all of the things I like about him? Do I give advice for travelling in Europe? Should I gush about my emotions, whatever they may be? Oh no, that’s not me, that’s not you, that’s not us. A process of trial and error, I find myself first writing beautiful, flowery prose, expressing deep, thoughtful feelings in terms of nature, language, and the universe, and ultimately? I delete it all. Too Hawthorne. I then try listing things, and logically explaining my inner thoughts, expressing them in a formulaic, outline-esque manner; too instruction manual, too industrial. So here I continue to sit, thinking- and then I realize that I am simply thinking of you, and it brings a smile to the corners of my lips. Suddenly, I am alight with inspiration, with direction, with something to say, not for the sake of saying, or having said it, but for the sake of having it heard, heard by you. For once, I find myself wanting to say something simply, and say it so that you have the simple pleasure of reading it; not only to have said it because that’s what one SHOULD do in such a case, but to have it listened to, to have it fall on the ears of the boy who holds my heart. Oh, no; to list trite, cliché, and overly used metaphors and idioms simply will not do. No, what I must say is special; what I simply must say is a secret between two people, pursed between kissing lips, for the sayer and the hearer only.
“I am going to miss you,” the girl starts, obviously, stating the basic, fundamental reasons for writing such a letter in the first place. That’s no secret, of course she’s going to miss him; is undoubtedly already missing him. But ah, is that what’s important? Is that what bears the soul, is that what is the crux of the matter? Anyone can be missed, really, simply by being out of their place. No, no that is not important; hardly merits being stated. What is important, however, is the why. For what reason could this indecisive, overly-critical girl have to miss this rugged, adventuresome boy? “To put it simply,” she continues, “because I simply will.” These two, this boy and girl, they are simple. Easy. Relaxed. Open and honest, they are not simply content, but happy. Some say simple is boring, simple is a lack of passion, simple is too easy, as if such a thing were possible, or simple simply does not exist. But this girl says no. Simple as that. Simple is an easy smile across the room, simple is a burnt cd of favorite songs. Simple is a head rub, a back massage, a quick kiss when their friends’ backs are turned. Simple is a good morning message, a late night phone call. Simple is going with the flow, adapting, relaxing, and letting things simply be. Simple is modest, unassuming, has no ego. Even when the world is not simple, even when writing such a simple letter is nothing of the sort, simple is the way he brightens her day without even knowing, simply by being there, here, anywhere.
Simple is us, simple is wonderful, and simply, I will miss the hell out of you, simple as that.
An easy kiss, a simple hug,