My beautiful creature,
As you've said - today I was out of fucks.
And that eventually came with a remarkable lightness. A lightness that makes you move your hips when making coffee in the kitchen, even if people around you lift their eyebrows. Where you catch yourself in a middle of some dance move while walking.
Do you know what I mean?
Do you have days like that?
I hope you do.
I'll try to bring you soup tomorrow and hope that you do. Because you need a full lunch. You need water. You need rest. And the more I keep saying this, the more it all loses meaning, doesn't it? What's the point of me yapping about it so much if nothing happens? So I'll bring you soup. I can do at least that much.
I'd lie if I'd say that you don't worry me. That some of the things you mention aren't landing in my heart with a ping of anxiety. Things about your home life. About the pain and frustration that this is causing. You missing me when I'm right there. And the determination with which you say that we're going to do one thing or another.
Most of them are not bad things, not in essence.
But as you said... I have your trust. And you have hope. And those are fragile things. I don't want to break them. But those are also the things that can hurt you the most, and I'm scared.
God, I don't want to hurt you.
I don't want to wreck you.
You talk about suddenly smelling me. Welcome to the fucking club. That's how I live every day - you there, and I can smell you, and at the same time can't kiss you in that spot right behind your ear.
I know what it all feels like. Trust me.
I know.
I keep telling myself, telling you here that we're going to be ok. We're going to figure this out. But eventually the question creeps in - how. How are we going to do that. How's that 'figuring out' going to look like.
Because I have no fucking clue.
I have a feeling you're in the same shoes.
My brain keeps drawing out these terrible outcomes. Insane scenarios. Unbelievable pain. I try to stop it then - because I have to, or else I'll roll down the hill again. Maybe this is ok. Maybe it'll all be OK.
However it all turns out.
And that's the thought I'm clinging onto.
It'll all be OK, dear.
It has to be.