Dear Mars,

I miss that time, last year, when Mars was closer. And the Moon. And we were, too. Or,maybe the anticipation in the days upcoming? I miss both those things— us, especially, then— long conversations predicting the future/(now)s. I miss us hoping otherwise: two lovely, lonely things enamored with the other. A Girl and her Planet. a Moon and Mars dancing over the 101. Eating donuts on Alvarado.  Two little demons falling falling into one another, happily. Pancakes and LSD, downtown out of the cold. I mean to say: I’m sorry. I’m freaking out for many reasons other than Her pull or yours or His. I know we’ve made wrong turns and may have worn out an adventure; and who knows where we’ll end up, all grown up? But, it was nice to revisit them—the Old Us (spatially! even temporally). Them. Summertime. Desert air. “you & me” by Penny and the Quarter’s (put it on you’ll thank me.) the Old Us before all-that-othershit fucked it up. But I’d like to say that I am proud of our bravery. And I am terrified and so exhausted of what it’s done. Such the dichotomy that is loving Somethings like us. Pyrite, still pretty. Anyway, I hope that they are alive and happy, together. It was so nice visiting the old house, their clothes and haircuts, the newness and discovery—and I hope they still exist somewhere, together. Being very boring, together. Got their shit together. Goofing off, together. Enamored. Unguarded. Never needing to have to think again; just to feel—