I think letters are beautiful. A beautiful way of communication, a beautiful way to take the time and actually think about your feelings before you say them out loud, a beautiful way of appreciation of someone. Love letters. Birthday letters. Even goodbye letters. Taking a sheet of paper, seeing the ink sink slowly into it, reading it all over again until you know for sure it’s exactly what you wanted to say, folding it up and handing it over – a gesture of handing over your feelings and thoughts to somebody.
There are a lot of famous letters, written by authors, musicians, politicians, kings, queens, poets. But there are also a lot of letters that aren’t famous. That are kept private forever.
There are letters that aren’t kept at all. Letters that are burnt, ripped apart because you can’t stand the words anymore, because they hurt so much, you want to destroy them and still you will memorize every word because you know them by heart.
And then there are the letters that have never been written. We all know we have that one person (or more) that has been very special to us, someone who isn’t in our lives anymore, but still matters so much. That person that was separated from us by death or life or time or distance. A person that left us, that we left, and to whom we would still have so much to say, but we don’t.
Therefore I want to open up a category on my blog: letters that I didn’t write until now.
I believe that certain things just can’t be left unsaid. That it’s important to say our goodbyes, our thank-yous, our screw-yous and our I-love-yous. Here is the space to do so. Not only for me, but also for you. If you want to write a letter, send it to me and I will publish it. More as a piece of literature, more as a piece of art made by emotions, not as a disclosure of privacy. Let’s write all the letters that we didn’t write until now.
Here comes the first one:
Dear P. (you know who you are),
So my friend saw you today, working at a beach club in Berlin/Mitte, secretly took a picture of you and showed it to me earlier. You still look the same, but you don’t. I recognize that pair of skinny jeans you are wearing and your favourite cap. I recognize the shape of your body and the way you wear your beard. Your hair grew a lot. It’s a witness of the time that passed since I last saw you, I guess.
Flashes of moments we shared appeared in front of my inner eye when I saw that familiar face in that blurry smartphone picture… Your scrunched face in the morning when I woke up next to you and how you always tried to hide underneath the blanket. Us, naked, in your bed, you playing the guitar and me singing or simply listening or sometimes, I admit, falling asleep to it. How you made vanilla latté for me every time I slept at your place. A tiny photobooth. Me sitting on your lap. Smiling. Kissing. How you showed up dressed up as a zebra for my motto party. Hashtags on Instagram that only we understood or your lullabies that you sent me via what’s app whenever I asked for it. That weird connection we had, always texting the same word at the same time and how this happened again and again and again. That evening at the Christmas market or that one having origional fish and chips in the middle of Berlin. The list of things we wanted to do together that we wrote before we had even met for the first time. Yep, that list that we never finished ticking off… That moment when you told me you wanted to be with me. That moment when you told me you didn’t.
I have written you letters before. One in the beginning and one in the end. This will be my final one, I promise. I can’t believe it’s been a year already and at the same time it does feel like eternity. Like I met you in a different life. Like nothing of me still has anything to do with you, but I know that’s not true. It still has. You left pretty deep footprints in my heart. In fact, they are more like holes. Deep holes. It took me quite a while to fill them up with something else and it was quite dangerous, too, because I had to be really careful not to fall into one. I know that you know that you left me broken. I don’t have to tell you again.
What you don’t know is how I have spent months condemning all the memories I had of you. All these colourful special moments we had, turned to grey and the grey rubbed off on my life.
You not only left me, you also took all the positive feelings I had for you with you and made me second-guess what we had. And then today I saw that photograph of you and suddenly all these things popped up in my head but they didn’t hurt, they made me smile. And as if this picture made it possible to have a distant look at you through a keyhole or something, it also made it possible to have a distant look at those lost memories… they look happy from afar.
I was really, really happy with you. I’m not sure if I ever told you. At times I also condemned that happiness, because if it wasn’t for the happiness there wouldn’t be that pain. But then again the pain is just proof of the happiness. You made me happy, P., and now I can say that I am thankful for that, because you allowed me to be myself and experience happiness as myself, experience that that’s even possible. I will treasure that. I just needed to let your hair grow over the pain. Today I realized, I can look back and see that it was real what we had, it just wasn’t the right thing for you, I guess. For a long time I thought I wasn’t right. I know that’s not true. In the end we might have not been right for each other. I mean it always bothered me that you didn’t read Harry Potter, to be honest. Just kidding. (Not kidding!)
Anyway. I’m glad to see you are doing alright, working, living, breathing and all that. I hope you are happy. I really do. And now I have written all these words, but could have easily put their meaning into these three:
I forgive you.
Fare thee well,