My beautiful creature,
Today couldn't be more Friday the 13th than it was. It couldn't be worse. The entire fucking day.
We couldn't get a minute together. We kept missing each other. Hell, we couldn't even stay in the same space for more than a second.
It was excruciating.
I thought that us meeting for coffee was a good thing. Very much, desperately needed. It might make things better, as it usually does. I thought I might see you smile. Maybe even giggle.
Oh how fucking naive.
The feeling of you sobbing on my shoulder, in my arms, absolutely trembling - I felt you falling apart. And all I could fucking do is just... Stand there and hug you, tightly, scared you'd crumble to the ground if I didn't. What I wanted to do was to ask you to just... Cry. Let it out. Let it go. It's been a shit day, we're both exhausted by a long and emotional talk, not to mention work, sleep deprivation, other things...
But I knew you would never do it.
So I just stood there. Trying to hold the world together.
My dear...
It's going to sound weird, but I do want you to cry. To just let everything out. I want you to bawl your eyes out because I feel that you need it. There's so much in you - good things, bad things, and a lot that has been hidden under the rug. And I would hold you close to my chest - so close until the world would feel lighter, safe again, just caressing your cheek, threading fingers though your hair until you calmed down.
That's what I want.
For you to feel that lightness within yourself. For you to see the light that I see in you.
But you are right.
Real world isn't a letter.
Our talks are real. I can't weave poetry and warmth into them as I do here. And it becomes painfully obvious how fucked up all of this is.
And I'm sorry. We said that we won't be sorry but we are. Every fucking day.
I'm... I don't know. I'm going to go.
Do something productive.
See, no poetry.
I can't let you go but I also can't give into the fantasy that it'll all be OK.
You will get tired of this. Of this pain.
And then you'll start to resent me.
And I will just... Wilt into myself.
The pain of reaching and not grasping anything... Noone...
And now I have a knot in my throat.
Oh my dearest... What on earth are we going to do?