Brock Press

Issue date: 1/15/08 Section: Marginalia

My dearest Juno,

Sing along with me, if you would be so kind:

If I was a flower growing wild and free
All I'd want is you to be my sweet honey bee
And if I was a tree growing tall and green
All I'd want is you to shade me and be my leaves

Junebug, I just don't know what to say. I can't explain myself. I think I love you, but I can't seem to find the words to tell you so. I find myself stuck, listening to that song from the movie you were in over and over again - it's everything I want to tell you, but coming from the voice of another man.
Maybe I could learn to play guitar for you, Juno. I could ride my bike to your house, guitar strapped to my back, Sunny D in hand, and we could strum and sing and kiss and cuddle and you could tell me all about who you are, who you want to be and what you believe in and I could tell you how pretty you are, how much I appreciate that you exist, that you're awesome and sassy but not sassy in that awful, daytime TV way and we could kiss again and snuggle and talk about it on your hamburger phone and exist for no one else but each other and I could love you forever and forever and forever until the world ends, the universe explodes and until the very last neutron of hope and love and wonder spirals through the galaxy and drifts into oblivion.
Juno, I love you more than I already love the freedom that comes with sleeping in on a Thursday. I love you more than I love rain on a hot summer day, or when the sun breaks through the clouds on the winterest of wintery days. I love you more than coffee, and my kitten, and computers.
Juno, I love you more than I love my favourite song ("The Diamond Sea" by Sonic Youth, deal with it), or my favourite movie or my favourite book because I think you're my favourite thing in the world. You're clean, and you like compilation CDs, and your bedroom might be the most beautiful place in the world. I love you in the way that I know for a fact that my life would be one million times better if you, Juno, ever looked at me the way you look at Paulie Bleeker.
I love you more than I love love itself.

If you were the wood, I'd be the fire.
If you were the love, I'd be the desire
If you were a castle, I'd be your moat,
And if you were an ocean, I'd learn to float

Oh, God, what am I doing? I can't compete with Bleeker: his eyes, his soft cheeks, his air of effortless sexuality and non-threatening decorum, the way he looks in those shirts and that headband. It's futile. You both are perfect, and me, well, I'm just a guy writing a stupid letter.

All I want is you, will you be my bride
Take me by the hand and stand by my side
All I want is you, will you stay with me?
Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea

I may not have the unconventional loverboy quality of your super boss boy toy Paulie Bleeker, but in the words of that guy who sings that song: If you were a kiss, I know I'd be a hug. That's all I can ever offer you, but when you think about it, isn't that all you need?

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