Hey. Bear with me, as I haven’t written a personal letter since maybe elementary school, and even then it was just in class, while being taught how to. Do little kids still learn this, you think? Are there just lessons on gmail now? I’m sorry if I try to be funny, and it doesn’t come across that way. Words really need to be read by the right audience in order to make all of their sense, and the right audience is probably different depending on what you’re writing, and though I am always writing, it is not always to other people. I don’t know if I’m supposed to sound smart or conversational, so I’ll probably end up being neither.
Anyway, how are you? I saw your name in the paper. I’m sorry about your father—I always imagined he was like some time-lost version of you, from the future, sent back to look after you. I know you two were close. I would have never guessed, but I guess I’m preaching to the choir on that one.
Did you see me on television? Sorry to change the subject so swiftly—I find there’s always time to dwell on darkness, so no reason to treat it as sacred. Lately, anyway. My life has been insane in a different way, but I think I needed my life to be crazy in order to make myself seem normal—being around more traditional people, it…it always just reminded me of something I am not, or could not convince myself was worth being. I think you were the only one who that and did not take offense. It’s like you were a double-agent, or like Dr Spock—different enough to stand out but normal enough to fit in with the group. I think that’s why I loved you so desperately. It’s like, maybe I could learn how to be both, like you. I really never learned, but sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like if I did, if I let things flow instead of always pushing the limit, seeing how much I could get away with, with you I mean. But also with everybody. Looking back, I understand why you began to lose patience. With me. Can you believe I’ve seen a therapist. My agent said that I should so that I don’t over-share in interviews. I would always picture therapists as women, and did that day, the way people see a dog and presume it’s a boy. My therapist was a man, and he told me to write to you. He said this a year ago, when things were going really bad for me. He asked me when was the last time I believed in what I was doing, and I told him about you; the ‘at first’ version of you. I always tried to think of why you even bothered hanging out with the ‘at first’ version of me, let alone the ‘eventually’ version. Anyway, I told him about how I could say or do anything and you would stress the fact that you would never judge me, that if I ever needed you, you would be there. Maybe not always at first, but eventually. I have never been hugged so much before or since, nor heard the world love, nor felt it. He told me that I should tell you this, if I haven’t already. I told him how you were like fireworks, and how was I supposed to sit fireworks down and tell it not how I feel, but what those feelings mean to me. So I just worked, and things got better. You don’t think it’s possible to think about the same person every day, but it’s surprisingly easy and doesn’t really take up much space in your mind. It’s just there.
You, I mean. I hope this is not offending you. I just read about your father, and I figured that maybe reminding you of something good might make you feel even just a little bit better. That’s the kind of ego I have now—I think I can help people. I really do miss you. And so thinking of something might feel good to you turned into just giving you something that feels good to me, and that’s the memory of those couple of years. I feel like you raised me, and vice versa. Right? I hope it’s not just me. When you feel something a lot, it’s almost impossible to make other people feel it, just by being something they have to think about. I dunno. I found this old picture. Looking at pictures used to hurt (I’m sorry), but now it’s kinda fun. It helps me enjoy that the closest thing I’ve had to a dream is coming true. Besides you, I mean. But I guess there are some things perseverance can’t buy. (Did that last sentence come across as funny to you?) (Did that one?)
I won’t keep you forever. But you should know you can get in touch whenever you want, no matter what I’m doing or who I’m with. No matter what time it is, or what day. The people out here…sometimes it’s like they’re all one giant person, divided into a million parts. It’s to get to close to anyone, but there are so many people that you are never really alone. Is that how it used to feel for you, back home? Sometimes I got that feeling, not just in me, but in you. Hopefully that’s a good sign for us. As people, I mean.
Anyway, take care, huh? I don’t have much else, and what I really want is to hear about you. When something bad happens in your life, it still feels like something bad is happening in mine. My card is included here as well. Yes, I am one of thoe people now. I can get you cards too, if you want. Everybody here has them, it could be like a thing if you visit. Okay, I’ll stop stalling. I love you, sir. Tell everyone I said hello. Hope our goodbye wasn’t the last. Cheers.
A simply beautiful letter - by youareanobject.
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7 months ago)
