Tuesday, April 13, 2010


by Gretchen Cello

I am writing to tell you that I am your lover’s lover. There’s no need to
thank me for fuelling his imagination all of those nights you were
thinking about matching dish sets…

… laundry on the line. All of those nights where you recited his name as
mine screamed in his mind.

I am writing to tell you this isn’t your fault. It’s not your fault the
way my curves naturally sway to jazz – the way my thighs brush together
and smoke like firesticks. I don’t blame you for all those days I couldn’t
leave the house…

… stuck inside feeling him more from 10,000 miles than I’m concerned you
are in bed.


I am writing to explain this is a bit out of your depth, really. The way
our senses switched the first time they experienced the other. The way
sound sweetened to a new tone when I first heard him speak. Heard him ask…

... just one of the senses that sleeps in the presence of anyone else.

Including you.

Including anyone.

I am writing to let you know what seems to be abeyance is a longing that
lasts passed what your watch can clock.

Ticking down days that invent new ways of what we’ll do the next time
we’re together.

I hope you understand.
I hope you understand.

Gretchen Cello often speaks to headstones because the feedback she receives is much more logical than regular daily occurrences. You can find
her at www.FollowMeToNYC.com where she is plotting an escape from what is expected and tracking the path to a penthouse in Manhattan. She wanted me to tell you that she totally has a crush on you...

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