Dear L. (you know who you are),
are you relieved now? Now that you don’t hear from me anymore?
Do you have one less problem without me? Well, because I have to say I have one MORE problem without you.
It’s these open ends that bother me over and over again. It’s the incompleteness, the imperfection that leads to incomprehension on my side. Incomprehension because I don’t get how you can walk in the same direction for weeks, together, and then at a random crossroads just decide to make a turn while the other one continues to walk straight on. And the incomprehension leads to indignation, unwillingness to accept this.
It’s hard to accept that it’s not enough, especially after all the hours we spent together, all the conversations we had, all the effort you put into this. I mean all these phone calls, both smoking a cigarette out of the window, while week by week the summer had to make room for fall. And the colder it got outside, the more distant you became.
Maybe it’s presumptuous from me to judge – I mean, what are 5 dates, right?! Maybe it’s crazy to see what I see in you. Maybe I was conceited when, far away on the horizon, I made out an outline of something that could become „us“.
Basically it was over before it even began to get really good. Basically we are really alike, only that I potentially wanted more and you potentially wanted nothing and it’s not possible to find common ground. That’s what you said. But isn’t that the most tragic failure of all possible variations of failure, that everything starts off just perfectly and one person allows it to grow and the other one doesn’t?!
Just imagine what could have been. When I do, I can’t help having an image in my mind of two people sitting on a balcony, a semi-good bottle of wine on the table, a cigarette in their hands, woolsocks on their feet, all these good conversation topics flying from one person to the other like a blowball in the wind. An image of nights in which we would be philosophic, quote literature and kiss. Mainly kiss. And an image of mornings having coffee in bed, while the tram finds its way through the street underneath your window. Just imagine what could have been.
All these images in my mind will kill me on the long run, but you don’t have to care because your mind creates a different image.
Every time I have to let someone like you go, I ask myself how often one will meet a kindred soul again in one lifetime and, in deep sorrow, all that’s left for me, is to hope. To hope that, after you made a turn, our ways will somehow cross again, in a different, better time. Or to hope that my heart will somehow understand that it is pointless to hope for that.
And, above all, hope that I have left some marks in your life after all. If so, nothing was in vain.
Fare thee well,
PS: I just realized we smoked way too much when we were together. That wasn’t healthy, anyway.