My dear friend,
Now I just need to do Christmas. Nothing else. Just Christmas.
I woke up at 5 with a heart full of lead. I promised today I'd send you these... Letters. Confessions. Musings of my tired, feverish mind.
I am so scared. There's this sinking feeling, like I'm being crushed, like I'm about to do something absolutely terrible. I'm afraid that you'll see this - and either fall deeper, or start to despise me.
Maybe hate wouldn't be such a bad option in the given circumstances.
I try not to think about coming back. About seeing you again for the first time next year. I'll probably want to fall into you, inhale you, disappear somewhere in the bend of your neck. I try not to think of that, but it surfaces in my mind from time to time. Then, like a relentless dog trainer, I look at this still from the side and repeat 'no, bad dog, leave it'.
And then I do leave it.
Because we can't have it both ways, can we.
We can't.
And the more we dance around it, the worse it gets.
So I banish all of this from my mind and focus on one thing at a time. Christmas. Just do Christmas eve. Make food. Concentrate. Herring. Poppies. Blender. Cloth ironing. Whatever.
It's hard. But it'll get easier if I do this every day.
The trick is.. I have to do this every. Goddamn. Day.
I know.
I did this before.
It never gets easier, turning away from something, someone you so desperately want.
But we can't have it both ways, can we.