I hope yours is too.
I like you a lot.
I think you're a really neat person.
It worries me that some of your friends have turned into my enemies.
When I see you, visceral things kick in. They are like lightning.
Or maybe submerged thunder. But anyway, it's rough.
There were places we went, and stuff we looked at,
And when you almost fell off the mountain, and scrabbled with your feet almost without noticing,
that was pretty cool.
And then there were the times we talked about cruelty
and how bad that is
and how one should always watch out for these things, and
try to cure them,
try to prop up your sick friends,
try to make them whole again.
So, is it all over now, baby blue?
All of that?
All of this life and kindness and love and convention and pain?
All of this ripping?
You showed me once, how to cut an onion.
This way, and that, and how to parse it properly.
You taught me how to brown vegetables in the cast iron frying pan
You taught me how to cook.
I cannot cut an onion without thinking about you.
What am I to do with this?
You stole chile from me, too.
You and your tequila concoctions.
You and your chocolate and chile; you've stolen it all,
and you haven't left me much to work with
for putting it together again.
Yeah, you're friendly
when you have time
when you're not busy
You're a nice person
no question about that.
No question about that.
But there's still too much of my life
that is all about you
And how do I divorce myself from your primateur
without betraying you
You who have managed, perhaps inadvertently
to drive yourself into my gut
into my nut
into the part that grows again
when anything grows again
if anything grows again.
And yeah, sure it will
I will grow again
I don't like to whine.
But I don't want to lose you, either.
I'd like to keep at least a trace.
Something to think about in the bad mornings
Someone to remember when he was funny
When he looked at me like some kind of
beloved kid sister.
And said "We love you, Miep, but you're really weird."
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