Dear K,
Having slept on my last email, I feel like I didn't cover everything I should have; it was written meaningfully, but also in haste. I meant everything I said, but I wrote it indifferently when I should have written from my heart. We have both known that in each other, we perceive ourselves. I feel that in many ways, we have lived parallel but separate lives – all the way down to our quirky mannerisms and completely ridiculous sense of humour. I still laugh to myself about the morning we woke up and held a full 10-minute conversation with terrible British accents, all without prompt or reason. It goes deeper than all of this, I know, to the way we suppress and internalize, to the way we emotionally compensate, and outwardly show anger and insecurity. We are different, for sure, but our striking similarities have also caused me minor disturbation. For example, I'm sure you had a faint inner chuckle at the word disturbation, possibly followed by a connection to the word masturbation, which consequently yielded another, slightly more jovial, inner chuckle. Anyway, in trying to figure out what is going through your mind, I put myself in your place: anger, resentment, sadness, disappointment, and above all else an intense desire for self-preservation and an inward commitment to the construction of a very high and sturdy emotional wall. If I were you, I would stop talking to me and know that the silence would hurt. Anyway, I can only guess. But here's what I know: I've made mistakes, as we all have, but in the end, as I think about all of the things we have said to, and felt about, each other, I can only tell you that I will miss you, dearly. I fucking miss you right now. I thought about you every day in Paris. Every single day. After I returned, I immediately went to New York alone, to clear my head. Every day in Manhattan, I took what memories I had of you with me. You were with me when I strolled through the Louis Vuitton flagships on the Champs-Élysées and on 5th Avenue. And I have always remembered that line we have uttered (moo?) several times: I don't know how you figure into my life, but I know that you have to be part of it, somehow. Now, obviously you have had a change of heart, and you're doing what you think is best. I respect that, even if I don't agree. I just know that we have both lived with the regret of past mistakes and destroyed friendships – people with whom we shared many of our best and worst times, in relationships that have ultimately slipped through our fingers, or have been crushed between them, for one reason or another. We both have very few inner-circle friends because of this. The question I have always asked is, are things better because of it? Is my life any richer? I honestly don't know – but my heart has always told me, probably not. Our lives are too short, you know? Anyway, that's all. I could go on for hours, but it would just be ramble. I have thought about you in some way, shape or form, every day since I left for Paris (you were snarky on the phone just before I took off, remember?). And deep down, I know – I KNOW – that you have also thought about me, that you are still thinking about me. Please do not mistake this for ego. I know this because I can feel it. Does that sound dumb? Maybe I'm way off-base. But wherever I seem to be, I can feel our thoughts colliding in the psychic airspace and geography that separates us. See? Disturbation. It all comes together in the circle of life. And now, I will say goodbye, as this is my best guess at what you are trying to achieve.
Love always,
J
Having slept on my last email, I feel like I didn't cover everything I should have; it was written meaningfully, but also in haste. I meant everything I said, but I wrote it indifferently when I should have written from my heart. We have both known that in each other, we perceive ourselves. I feel that in many ways, we have lived parallel but separate lives – all the way down to our quirky mannerisms and completely ridiculous sense of humour. I still laugh to myself about the morning we woke up and held a full 10-minute conversation with terrible British accents, all without prompt or reason. It goes deeper than all of this, I know, to the way we suppress and internalize, to the way we emotionally compensate, and outwardly show anger and insecurity. We are different, for sure, but our striking similarities have also caused me minor disturbation. For example, I'm sure you had a faint inner chuckle at the word disturbation, possibly followed by a connection to the word masturbation, which consequently yielded another, slightly more jovial, inner chuckle. Anyway, in trying to figure out what is going through your mind, I put myself in your place: anger, resentment, sadness, disappointment, and above all else an intense desire for self-preservation and an inward commitment to the construction of a very high and sturdy emotional wall. If I were you, I would stop talking to me and know that the silence would hurt. Anyway, I can only guess. But here's what I know: I've made mistakes, as we all have, but in the end, as I think about all of the things we have said to, and felt about, each other, I can only tell you that I will miss you, dearly. I fucking miss you right now. I thought about you every day in Paris. Every single day. After I returned, I immediately went to New York alone, to clear my head. Every day in Manhattan, I took what memories I had of you with me. You were with me when I strolled through the Louis Vuitton flagships on the Champs-Élysées and on 5th Avenue. And I have always remembered that line we have uttered (moo?) several times: I don't know how you figure into my life, but I know that you have to be part of it, somehow. Now, obviously you have had a change of heart, and you're doing what you think is best. I respect that, even if I don't agree. I just know that we have both lived with the regret of past mistakes and destroyed friendships – people with whom we shared many of our best and worst times, in relationships that have ultimately slipped through our fingers, or have been crushed between them, for one reason or another. We both have very few inner-circle friends because of this. The question I have always asked is, are things better because of it? Is my life any richer? I honestly don't know – but my heart has always told me, probably not. Our lives are too short, you know? Anyway, that's all. I could go on for hours, but it would just be ramble. I have thought about you in some way, shape or form, every day since I left for Paris (you were snarky on the phone just before I took off, remember?). And deep down, I know – I KNOW – that you have also thought about me, that you are still thinking about me. Please do not mistake this for ego. I know this because I can feel it. Does that sound dumb? Maybe I'm way off-base. But wherever I seem to be, I can feel our thoughts colliding in the psychic airspace and geography that separates us. See? Disturbation. It all comes together in the circle of life. And now, I will say goodbye, as this is my best guess at what you are trying to achieve.
Love always,
J
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