6. when we can - step out

I guess I will just go on. No time to write. This is a bit of a tangent, and my least favorite letter since it talks more directly about him, which I don't think is fair. But it is something I need to own up to. And does give a glimpse into the true flavor of our relationship.

Dear T,

When I first met you, you were filled with promises too, but I was relaxed because I knew it was not about the impressing with money, nor the bribing to lure me in.

Us going on actual dates. What a concept.

You probably don’t even remember, but for a brief time, there were talks of theaters we could go to, a fancy place you said that a friend could get you cheap, a place we could dress up for, film festivals and jazz festivals and food festivals, scary movies, you said, no one watches scary movies with me.

We did none of these things once we had sex. We never even left your house.

You probably don’t remember, you used to call at 2 a.m. just to talk. You had a game where we asked each other questions that the other couldn't ask back.

We stopped asking at all.

You probably don’t remember, there were photos from the country I grew up in you never looked at, there were my poems you said you wanted to read but then never got back to me on, there were favorite songs I sent you that I never heard about again either.

I got tired of asking. I was shy about it to begin with. I enjoyed when you showed me similar things, and left it at that.

(But I was disappointed. My safe retreat, my private hole, beckoned again.)

Do I sound like the neglected girlfriend? It's not quite like that.

When you met me, it was at a point where a part of me just wanted new people to hang out with, to talk about and share the things I never got to with others. All my old friends seemed to have tied their feet to their narrow spots. There was a part of me that wanted feedback from someone I actually respected, to give me courage to open up.

It's not that you never reached out to me. You were in fact one of the first to give me real credit for the things I actually cared about. You were the first to tell me I could write, to tell me you had printed out one of my writings, to tell me you pressed the 'save' button without hesitation whemever I pressed send. You were the first to tell me I could play. The first to find songs you just knew I would like, the first to go out and buy a CD after listening to it with me.

It's that you reached out and then stopped.

I didn't care though because, more than any of this, I wanted to fuck you. You said it didn’t have to come at a cost to a friendship, but time made it so.

Time was cruel to us in general, we have said it over and over, unlucky clashes in both our schedules persisting throughout. If I believed in signs, I would have given up on us a long time ago. (Signs be damned. )

I know choices were forced, and maybe it was easier for us that way.

I know that was the whole idea, that you did not have the time. No time for a "relationship", yes, but no time for friendship? You had to leave our chats without goodbyes, you had to juggle between phonecalls, you had to kick me out the door come time for work.

It's not that I held it against you. I could be the same from time to time.

You were always working, you are still. And that is your choice.

You’re struggling with that choice now, questioning your addiction to work, what it is covering, asking yourself if it’s worth it, what you're missing out on. I cannot imagine you being less passionate about what you do, but I too wonder what room it leaves you with, and what doors it leaves untouched.

I don't want you to be left lonely one day, and the sad part is I don't mean that I want you to be with me.

As much as I will envy it, I do hope you find someone you want to make time for, as you have said that that is what you want.

This is an old story. I can only wish you well.