a letter from distance

dear ____,

these letters are not what they used to be. they are not as important anymore. i have real people around me now. i miss him. sometimes i write to him. usually in the middle of night after i return home from maria’s. sometimes i’m sober, sometimes i’m not but my feelings stay the same. i miss him. i wish we could spend couple of days together. i am forgetting what is it like with him. that care free atmosphere with a bottle of red wine. but i will not see him any time soon. we’ve become distant to each other. or maybe i to him. i’m not sure. but i miss him. for some reason more today than yesterday. i try to convince myself that i’ve come a long way since the last time we saw each other. i wonder what he would think.

sometimes i daydream of waking up on a weekend and mom saying something like guess what, he arrived to hong kong last night. and i would quickly get up, have a shower, brush my teeth. i would smile the whole time thinking what a beautiful day it is outside even if it were raining. then i would go and meet him at our starbucks. we’d have our coffees talk about new and old. it wouldn’t feel like any time had passed. it would be me and him two old best friends having a coffee. as always.

that’s exactly what i am missing at the moment. me and him sharing a coffee, walking the streets of a city. it wouldn’t have to be prague or hong kong. it could be a village in the middle of nowhere. we’d walk talk about things the way we always do. i miss his constant flow of questions. some are childish, others are almost philosophical. i miss the way he walks and his scent, which stays with me long after we separate. but i can’t remember it anymore. i miss remembering little details attached to him. small things. insignificant things. details only i tend to notice.

i love when he sends me a song or a file through im or a hugging teddy bear. no deeper meanings just a sense of safety in this big ugly world. i miss that. i miss all of this. but i also know i need to focus on other things and people. a voice in my head tells me to let him go. but how do i do that? there are still too many things i would like to say to him. things i need to say to him. maybe even read bits and pieces from my black chronicle. he follows me through every word i write. don’t i own him something in return?

you probably feel abandoned as you read this but it is not personal. it is not personal at all. i forget i don’t forgive. which means it doesn’t matter whether you are going to ask for my forgiveness because i’m not going to remember it in the first place. some things just don’t matter.

nothing is certain. not even this.

signed as oscar wilde.