Dear November,
Did you miss me? I forgot to write to you yesterday. I was busy doing nothing and it occupied me until it was late. Having to read two sets of letters every day, was it a relief? I used to get letters from people I knew but I never responded. I'll get to it later turned into I have no one to write to. And this whole internet and growing apart from people thing, it just happened. You know how it its.
Today, I ran roughly half a mile. It was raining. It was kind of awkward because at one point it was I am actually trying and no I don't have asthma and wow what do I do with this pumpkin pie I just won and I am going to step into that puddle because I lost any s.hits I could have given 150 meters ago. I wouldn't have placed if it weren't for the rain, hence the rich fast girls staying inside so as their cashmere wouldn't get wet and thus clearing the space for me. Turkey Trot: run with a bunch of other hooligans who are either way too into this or don't care at all in the radical hope that you can be the one to claim some sort of edible prize. Turkey. Pumpkin pie. I was in the first group.
November, I'm kind of mad. At myself (it rarely is anyone else nowadays). I keep catching myself reminiscing about the person I was two years ago, athletics-wise. When I kicked a.ss in running and I was tart to boys who flirted with me and I made that winning goal in soccer and I was full of enthusiasm. There was a time when I could make the boys eat my dust during the mile, and that time is past. Anyway, I was always better at long distance. Why do I have to suffer to prove my point? There was a time when I thought a sub-7 minute mile was achievable, that time is lost and I don't know when, if ever, I will find it.
I'm too hung up on this. Academically, musically, I'm doing better.
There are two things that I want to love but I fear that I never will: running and writing. I've tried running to distract me from writing. I find refuge from running in writing. I'm running, running from both with a keyboard and my legs. Neither are taking me anywhere.
Do you realize you are home of the cynical, brutally poetic teens? No? We wrote to you in such a way you didn't even realize it.
Sincerely, Esther
YOU ARE READING
dear november
Non-FictionThis is a compilation of letters I wrote daily during the month of November, starting November fourth, skipping one day? two days? and ending on November 30th. Originally done on Polyvore, by @writingtips' and @smileylina 's suggestion, who got the...
