prague, 1968

April 11, 2009 | Letters

dear ____,

do i even remember the last one of these? do you? how long has it been? a few weeks, a few months? and i haven’t seen you for much longer than that. do we remember who we are anymore? i’m searching the history of the world trying to find something that would suit my unrested mind. do you even know i’m coming? i am unable to recall anything from our last conversation. not a single word. to say that i miss you would be a cliché. i don’t. i miss the freedom the abstractness of our relationship. no definitions, no obligations. lately i’ve been trying too hard stuffing myself into a box of satisfaction. at the end i just stand outside, alone, looking up to the top. i’ve become more observant and even more ignorant at the same time. what does that make me?

there’s a quote about revolution. it reminded me of a letter i once wrote but never finished because the end was a tragic one. i remember that i described our relationship as a revolution. because all rules were broken and new were formed without any logic to it at all. a few months later the revolution had lost its meaning and importance. at this moment, right now, maybe just for a second, i thought it would be like if the significance of our actions could become more than what it is now. maybe if i lifted up the gates and talked to you things would get easier.

you don’t deserve the silence anymore. you probably never have. i’m talking. you win. i’m back to back, back to the beginning. i’m rethinking everything i have ever said about you. every insult that was sent in your direction (silently) i’m rethinking it and wishing i never said it because you probably don’t deserve it. you’re trying your best. you’re doing your best it probably could have been easy for you. for us. and i don’t blame you. not anymore.

i’m going to try and do my best. just give me a little bit more time.