For Steve 02.16.10 (c) C. Quintana 2010

It’s Mardi Gras which means the city’s fat on good times.  As for me, after a fully-loaded weekend (in perhaps more ways than one, but I’ll leave that up to your imaginations) I am all paraded out.  So instead, I worked up this little diddy of a postcard.  And it got me thinking: you all in this great, big, funky internet universe get to see the fronts of all the postcards, but unless it’s yours, you’ll never know what’s on the back.  I’ve decided to write you all your own “back” to the postcard today.  Just in the spirit of the holiday.

Dear You,

How are you? I miss you. You could have guessed that, couldn’t you have?  It seems I’m always missing  people even when I’ve just seen them.  That makes me sound like a big creep, but let’s face it, I probably am.  You know that about me.  Let’s people watch again sometime when we’re both in the same place.

Updates. You told me I’m good at hiding things in words, but not so good when my eyes are involved.  So this is me working on using my words: I’m  terrified about grad school. I want it so badly.  I love this city, but know I need to be in New York.  Living with the rents sometimes sucks out my life force, but I’m grateful (yes, I’m grateful; I have to say I’m grateful).  They’re good people– I guess all this great DNA had to come from somewhere, right?

Are you in love yet? I’m head-over-heels (in like, too soon for that other four letter nonsense) with someone I can’t have.  Surprise, surprise. You’re probably nodding your head and rolling your eyes thinking, that is so like her.  I know you’re thinking and doing all this in a completely loving way.  So, to make you feel better: I’ve started seeing this other pretty groovy gal and we shall see where life takes me.  You’re right, I’m young and should stop living in this crazy, romantic head of mine.  But it’s mine, right? And no one else’s.

This postcard is obviously much more spacious and self-centered than the ones I usually send, do forgive me. I love you more than words, after all.

Love, CQ


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