Tuesday, September 20, 2016


Click above to play/pause accompanied post music.

Dear you,

I turned nineteen yesterday. I miss you. 

There's a lot of things I thought I'd know by this age. Like, how do I do my taxes? Apparently I currently owe the government money?

I mean, I don't know.

Where do you see yourself in five years?

I don't know

Are you okay?

I don't know

How many friends do you have?

I don't know

Where are you going to college?

I don't know

Are you alone?

I don't know

I don't know what time it is in Milwaukee or where the nearest gas station is. I don't even know where I am. (Somewhere between Denver and Utah. It's dark.)

I'm pretty sure we're over. I mean, I get a text every so often, but it's starting to feel less like an invitation and more like a courtesy. And considering how you make me feel, I don't think I care. 

But I don't really know. 

I do know that it's getting colder again. 

19 years.

228 months.

991 weeks.

6,941 days.

Six-thousand-nine-hundred-and-forty-one days.


The frost is starting it bite it's way through my gloves. My toes are numb. I can't feel my cheeks and my nose. 

How old will I be when my heart goes numb?


  1. Two things:

    a) I totally ripped off the 'Dear you' thing from Heather Chynoweth and her blog Sincerely (sincerelyxxblue.blogspot.com) and I've wanted to do it for so long that I just don't care anymore

    b) I was talking with Nelson the other day and I told him I thought it was petty that he was making posts about getting old and gray because he's only in his 30's and he told me teenagers do the same thing. (Touché.) But I wrote this anyway so

  2. Wow—I have missed your writing.

  3. I love your posts. this is amazing, as usual.

  4. You commented on my post about 18 and I've come back and read this over and over again but never commented too.

    The song is perfect.

    So are your words.

    You'd think a heart full of blood would feel warmer than this with age but it doesn't.
    Maybe some day?


Thanks for commenting! *Awkward high five*