Based in Sydney, Australia, Foundry is a blog by Rebecca Thao. Her posts explore modern architecture through photos and quotes by influential architects, engineers, and artists.

To Not Want

I want you to know that it’s okay you’ll never know this…


that you’ll never find this poem crumpled inyour pants pocket

                        while in search for loose change.


But if I were to write this

long letter to you,

it would be on a short piece of paper…


I want in a way that is so consuming it stifles

            it is of my own making

                        my own creation

                                    my own mixed tape I made for you

                                    so you would know the soundtrack ofus.

I want you to play it.

I want all the old possibilities of you:

            you as you are

                        you as you were

                                    you as I want you to be.

I want you to look at me as I looked at you,

            become my reflection

                        and not have it break like water

                                    refracted at the slightest pebble toss.


Even as I write this I want this poem to be a conversation we had

            years ago and for us to laugh at all the futility of it now.

I want to turn all our t-shirts into a patchwork quilt to keep you warm,

            to wrap us in the memories we will never again share.

I want to always feel your hand on my lower back and not just its phantom pain.

I want you to always be in contact with me,

            even if it’s a mundane detail

or the most important things you never said.


If you ever were to one day get the inkling that I had once

            written a poem about you,

                        and after a mighty search,

                                    discovered this weathered piece,

I want you to think that it didn’t mean that much to me.

            But I want it to mean everything to you.

I want to live with you in cliché scenes from movies so the next scene is easy to predict—I want a life in montage:

I dramatically run from you in the rain, you give chase, catch me and grab me… most likely in the rain.

            I squish ice cream in your face and then kiss it off to make amends.

            We fail at putting a piece of furniture together, then laugh about until it hurts.

I rest my head on your chest while you read something from a Chuck Palahniuk novel to me under a weeping willow tree in some well-known park.

            You watch me sleep and it gives you peace.

I want you to be annoyed and not know why,

            I want it to be because I’m not there.

I want your thoughts to be mine.

I want you to be sitting in your room right now writing a poem about your

unrequited love for me.

I want you to feel me slipping away

and have it fill you with a sense of urgency to act.

I want the next sunrise to come, and have had slept before it,

            no thoughts of you,

                        but when I dream, I want only to see you.

When I get the urge to nuzzle the crook of your neck,

            I want to be able to follow it.

I want to fight you,

            shake you until I’m the abusive parent who wants nothing but to

                        teach you through tough love lessons until you learn

                                    what is truly best for you.

I want you to realize it’s me without me having to do anything.

I want to be able to tell you

            I love you.

                        and not be afraid

                                    and know that it’s returned without second thought,

                                    rather second nature, the words are so worn that they

                                    are our hello, they are our farewell.

                                                I want there not to have been a farewell.

I want to tell you that I’m moving far away just to gage your reaction.

I want it to be raging sadness mixed with intense fear.

I want to be who I was before I met you.

I want to discover this poem and have it be by another author

            so I can mock it openly over it’s pathetic yearnings,

                        and pity the person who was ever so invisible

                                    to herself,

                                                or to the man she loved, who claimed to love her back.

I want to be able to hear a Foreigner or White Snake song and not find them deep.

            Because I do want to know what love is,

                        I’m tired of asking is this love?

I want to not be leaning towards no.

I want you to get sick with fever just so I can tend to you.

            make you soup

            brew you herbal tea

            feed you as many grapefruit seed extract vitamins as you can handle

I never want anything bad to happen to you.

I want to hold you and protect you and keep you from harming yourself,

            even if it comes to the point of you resenting me.

I want nothing more than for you to be happy.

I want that so much I’m willing to accept, even if I don’t agree, your happiness doesn’t involve me.

I want the love that I now have all to myself to be unselfish.

I want my love to be

            bigger than you

                        bigger than me.

                                    Bigger than the us that no longer exists.

I want to be strong enough to handle it.

I want to not be alone with my thoughts

            or keep thinking in “we”

            what we joked about

                        what we ate

                                    where we were going to go


I want a reenactment of our greatest hits

            our great conversations

                        our things we’ve never told anyone else, to exist

                                    for more than the reason of a character building exercise

I want to never have tried to kiss you.

I want you to have not let me.

I want it to not have made me so happy.

I want to grow up, grow on, grow away.

I want to realize that this is all nonsense,

            and remember that I don’t really believe in this stuff,


                                    not really, really anyway.

I want to not have the proof of us, so I can once again mean that.

I want to be not able to tell you the exact amount of time

 it’s been since we last talked.

I want to not talk to you anymore because I can feel me becoming

            more and more false.

I want our love to be true.

            But you can’t be in love with someone just by saying that you love him.

                        It must be mutual, otherwise it’s a crush…

                                    some high school note passed between desks in

                                                social studies class.

            And not the new life you thought you were going to lead, with a love that was                         forever.

I want this poem,

            this letter,

                        this note to be my goodbye to you.


I want not to want you anymore.

Pity Hitting and the Tragedy of Beauty