You know it's been five years now. Five years have passed, and I still don't have very many tears, I think it's because I lost so many when I lost you.
My tears never fill up like they used to. Remember how I used to cry all the fucking time? I can't really cry anymore.
But it will sneak up on me once in a while, in a gesture or a smile. In something outstandingly beautiful in nature, or dancers' grace. I remember all those hours you spent at the studio before I could drive, the time you added all the little flowers to my collar in the corps de ballet, even though the whole point is to be the same. Thank you for that. For the flowers. When I did my little piece in the back of the corps, they whispered to me "you're beautiful"; of course that was you, wasn't it?
Spring's here now, even though it's supposed to snow on Monday. Every year I wait for Spring for you. There's that chance to feel reborn, though it's bitter, ridden with the cycle of time. Time doesn't give a rat's ass for my whinging, and so it passes, so I seem to get farther and farther away from your memory. I used to be able to draw your face with my mind's eye. That's fading now. That's why I wish I saw more of you in my face.
Sometimes I look in the mirror, and I don't really know my own face. Although
This year on the Ides, something got made. The part of the making I did, I dedicate to Claude.
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| Its pictures..... |
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| but it's also me |
 |
| of some sad boy |
And that makes it also you.
And also Dad.
And everything I've felt and known.
And how I feel about not knowing.
It's all very strange and beautiful, this living. I'm not quite sure if I'm doing it right, but I feel like I'm going somewhere.
Dave and I are getting hand-fasted in May. That's a fancy way of saying "hippie married". You'll like it.
I miss you.
Love always,
Cat
PS-(All the photos here were taken by Marc Schreiner, in Brooklyn NY)
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