On One Hand

October 26, 2006

Love Letters

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 4:34 pm


Write me a short love letter, as a comment here. I will write one back to you. I will let you know which one I think is the best, and maybe if you win we can go for a walk or something. I might pick the best 2 or 3 if they’re all really good. There is no time limit; I reserve the right to hold out on a winner indefinately until I get a really good one. You don’t have to really love me to write me a love letter, I am just looking for creativity and charm. The letters can be anonymous if you want, but an anonymous letters don’t get to go for a walk if they win.



  1. Dearest Matt:

    We agree on things about as frequently as scientists discover a new element — rarely, briefly, but very significantly. Nevertheless, I’ve always considered you to be one of the most introspective and thoughtful people I have the privilege to know. Your ability to reflect on things I overlook, and put the intangible into eloquent language are traits of yours that I greatly admire. I’m admittedly less introspective and artistic than you, but I smile whenever you find the time and energy to brighten your friends’ days with the beauty of words. And sometimes images.

    I doubt we’ll be walking anytime soon, but some lucky person will be! 🙂


    Comment by jdhenchman — October 26, 2006 @ 11:56 pm | Reply

    • Oh Joe, though might I try, you never let me forget the woe of the American entrepreneur. You are never lacking in citations or economic references, facts and numbers, nor do you lack passion to promote your ideology. You are the Capitalist Capricorn, the farthest thing imaginable from myself. But I must admit, I am addicted to conflict, and so I continue to press you, because I think I ALMOST got you to become socialist, once, for the sake of loooove….

      OK, it’s no sonnet, and not much of a love letter either, but it carries the tone fo yours, oh…

      Comment by ononehand — October 27, 2006 @ 12:39 am | Reply

      • Gob: “My God. What is this feeling?”
        Michael: “You know, the feeling that you’re feeling is just what many of us call … a ‘feeling.’
        Gob: “It’s not like envy, or even hungry.”
        Michael: “Could it be love?”
        Gob: “I know what an erection feels like, Michael.”

        Comment by jdhenchman — October 27, 2006 @ 12:46 am

  2. Dear Matt
    Sometimes all it takes is for you to look at me.

    Comment by foucaultonacid — October 27, 2006 @ 11:14 am | Reply

  3. dear Pizzuti,

    I like reading your blog entries. they’re published-writing quality and you’ve got some viscious wit. sometimes, I wonder what I would look like if you mentioned me in an entry.

    I entertain the thought of you on the Illiterate staff. I think you’d make an interesting ripple in the dynamic of that crowd. I think you’d like them and they’d like you.

    keep your plant babies healthy,


    Comment by arazel — October 28, 2006 @ 12:14 am | Reply

    • Anna,

      Once I thought you were only an appendage to Lorelei, a full-fledged second head, talking, who lived with me by proxy, because that is all I saw of you at 1010 Adams Circle. I don’t mean that in a bad way, but in a God, they’re so much alike, way, and in a could they ever really be separate? Lorelei was my roommate so you basically did too. I’m sure I have mentioned you in an entry, if only just in passing, while mad at Lorelei. (No need to venture back and check.)

      But only until after you guys split did I see you become, to me, more of yourself, as you functioned in Lorelei’s absensce. And suddenly you were praying with me on Wednesdays, geting angsty behind your guitar, singing poetry at the readings, and moving your body like no one else behind the mic. You come across as shy at first, and it’s an amazing transformation when you perform, becomming suddenly a loud voice, outspoken, not afraid to fill the whole room with your presence.

      I already know half the Illiterate staff and they’re all cool, including you. I’d love to come aboard.

      Keep busting your fingers on those riffs,


      Comment by ononehand — October 28, 2006 @ 6:11 pm | Reply

  4. not sure if this qualifies but…

    I’m not sure if this counts as a love letter, but i wrote it in my blog about my boyfriend. he’s never read my blog so he’s never seen it. i’m not a write so let’s consider this amateur hour.

    He’s constant as the northern star and as sure as the sunrise in the morning. I know he will always be fair and kind and always listens. He’s generous and caring and always thinks of others before himself (sometimes too much). He’s always got a smile on his lips and a song in his head. He sees beauty in everyone he meets and treats them all like celebrities. He never judges people or criticizes them. He can show you the rainbow in every stormcloud (trust me I’m the King of stormclouds). People always smile when they see him coming, and he always leaves them with a kind word or a laugh in return. I’ve seen him touch and in some cases change the lives of people just by talking to them. He’s alot smarter than he lets on but still believes that it will rain if you kill a spider. He’s a talented artist and the perfect son. He’s the kind of brother that calls you when you need him most and the kind of uncle that catches lightening bugs with you on the first night of summer. He’s the kind of lover you run to after a hard day in the world because you know he will make everything alright again.
    He’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever met inside and out and he loves me although i don’t know why. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted and he’s right upstairs.

    Comment by moxxus — October 28, 2006 @ 2:45 am | Reply

    • Re: not sure if this qualifies but…

      Wait – you gave me a love letter you wrote someone else?

      Is that like a postmodern literary form of re-gifting?

      Alright, that works for me, and I’ll do the same. I don’t have a boyfriend, but I have an ex. Here’s a (long) love letter from January. to a guy who would soon become my boyfriend, and then soon after shred my heart into match-size stringlets with a cheeze grater:

      There are a thousand roles I play in my life – I have a thousand conflicting identities to consider when I make a decision. Sometimes I’m the chivalrous lover, working for the sake of an image of bravery and altruism. Sometimes I’m the adventuristic bohemian, and make my choice hoping it will keep me free to travel and accumulate a long list of unusual stories. Sometimes I am a student doing what’s best for school and sometimes I am a mindless employee trying to get a raise. Sometimes I think I’m a tortured artist and crave turmoil because I assume it fulfills some unspoken purpose of life. Sometimes I make choices wanting money or the good life and sometimes I want attention and respect. Sometimes I’m the mindful Buddhist hoping to limit the harm I inevitably cause through my material needs. Sometimes I’m obsessed with keeping as many options open as possible and refuse to commit to any. Sometimes I’m striving to be “drama-free,” artificially stoic or silent on the things cause me pain. Sometimes I’m looking out for myself and sometimes I’m mindlessly masochistic, filling my life with hopeless complexity and my body with thin scars I’ll never be rid of. I have a hedonistic streak I’ll probably never escape, and I can be an incessant moralist.

      All these things are layers of who I am, but these shells fall away when I think of you.

      I am going to say something, and I am not saying it as an aspiring writer who wonders, “how will this choice help my career ambitions?” I’m not looking for material. I’m not saying it as a sexual adventurist or a melancholy half-assed poet trying to weave my life into some beautiful tumultuous story. I’m not saying this as the superstitious, wondering how well our stars are alligned. I’m not saying it as a college student wanting a carefree romance or as a thinker or as a person who hopes for success. I am not saying it as an idealist, clinging to any concept of my past or future. I am not saying it as the good son, wondering what my parents would think of my choice. I am saying this, instead, as most basic me, existential, which remains after all chosen, changeable parts are shed. This is you and I, off in the woods, and the world outside is nothing but silent trees and rocks and green grass, none of it whispering yes or no. I want you to know that this is me, my eyes looking straight at yours transfixed and the whole world is faded away invisible in the distance.

      I am speaking as none of these things. Or, rather, maybe I’m speaking as all of them together; it makes no difference. The point is, I am not one more than any other when I tell you this:

      Right now, I want to love you. I want you to be the refuge I turn to when all else fails. I want to believe in you and be your refuge when you’ve otherwise lost hope. I want to grasp your hand, kiss each knuckle one by one, contemplate each joint and contour of your body until I know your form more deeply than it knows itself. I want to mold myself to the shape of you. I want to bring forth all the pain I’ve felt and trust you with it, to lie naked and trembling in your hands. I want to take your pain and make it mine. I want all the things I want for myself to be for you, too, and I want to give you credit for everything I accomplish.

      I don’t need to think about this longer when every resource I turn to tells me the same thing. I have no need hold back for the sake of “freedom” when having someone else here only means wishing he were you. I don’t need to consider being distracted from school or writing when you only inspire me to work harder. Oh, I know, someday you may crush me, someday you’ll take my beating heart in your hands and fling it against a wall. The chances of avoiding it are slim. Better you than anyone else, I suppose. Right now there is nothing in this broken world but you that gives me comfort.

      Comment by ononehand — October 28, 2006 @ 6:18 pm | Reply

  5. wow

    i guess you are right about the sentimental recycling…sorry about that. if it’s any consolation i read your stuff all the time and i really enjoy it…thanks for being gracious with a not-even-amateur writer:)
    it’s a good thing that you use your powers for good. if you ever unleashed your salacious soliloquies on poor unsuspecting boys in order to get them in the sack i think you’d find it probably works a little too well. at least on the ones that can read anyway…

    Comment by moxxus — November 3, 2006 @ 4:45 am | Reply

    • Re: wow

      Unleash my powers to get boys in the sack…
      I’ve never thought of that – I never imagined it could work. I mean, I sort of do that; everyone I’ve dated lately has said they fell for me because of my writing. But I sleep with them first and then love them later. I wonder if I just cut out the second part…

      Comment by ononehand — November 3, 2006 @ 6:17 pm | Reply

  6. You will know me by my IP. 1636

    It is with the cleanest of hearts I confess my love for you. Subsequently I am rife with too many emotions to quanitfy them. Vecray- that’s the newest one, emotion that is. That’s when you smile at something perverse in only the way you can, I decided there wasn’t a word for it yet so I had to make one. Slench, that’s when you’re upset over something trivial, well trivial to me and the mass but not to you. I looked closely at an insect one day, knowing about your fondness for them and decided if you love them then I should too. I noticed the tiniest of hairs on its legs, I imagine they must be such an exquisitely sensitive apparatus and it made me thing that you the most sensitive of people must be covered in them somehow but that’s not possible is it? Their compound eyes see so much of the same thing from a slightly different angle yet it is still coherent, I imagine your eyes must somehow be like that as well but that’s not possible is it? Most would recoil at being compared to a bug, but you love it, you’re too clever for language that tells you my love for you is like a flashlight on the walkway laughing at my hair. So I won’t tell you. I simply do my best to understand all these feelings you bring up in me, I know them and they’re familiar yet don’t quite make sense, much like a dyslexic speedreader must feel.

    Comment by Anonymous — November 9, 2006 @ 7:22 pm | Reply

    • Re: You will know me by my IP. 1636

      This is the winner, BTW. I wish I knew who it was…

      Comment by ononehand — December 17, 2006 @ 8:36 am | Reply

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