Old Letter #2

Found this one in the same box at the same time, along with a copy of his family tree and some other papers. I’m only sorry the mentioned poem wasn’t with the letter, wish I could remember it…but sixteen years is a really long time.

The universe certainly seems to be working hard to ensure that I will have a Merry Fucking Christmas (as Mr. Garrison sings on South Park)!

Rob,

Here is a copy of the poem that won 1993’s Most Promising Poet at my college.  I had to read it to a room full of people.  I almost couldn’t do it.  I felt so vulnerable that I was prepared to be left in humiliation, cut and bleeding on the floor.  I pretended you were there and read it, like I was reading it to you.  I guess I was a little too emotional.  When I read the last line, I looked up.  I felt my face turn hot and stinging because everyone was staring at me like “what a jerk-off.”

My friend, Cathy, started clapping and I thought she was just embarrassed for me.  Then the room, a few at a time, started clapping, too.  They kept clapping.  Then three girls in front stood up.  Next they all stood up.  My class went nuts hooting and yelling support.  That was the most humbling, gratifying and powerful wave of emotion that has ever hit me in my whole miserable, fucking existence.  I will never forget it as long as I live.  The funny thing is, only two people on the planet know what it is about.  I don’t have any money to give you what I wanted for your birthday, so instead I want to give you the only thing I do have:  A piece of myself.

Please accept it, and know that I would trade all of what happened on that day and anything that comes next for one, tender brush of your beautiful lips across my aching brow.

Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday.

Michael

 ** Note – My birthday is 30 December, hence the combination of the events.

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