Dear friendo, or yeehaw boi, or whatever you feel like being rn,
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First of all, I write this knowing full well that you may come across it. You are not as sneaky as you think you are and nor am I. Secondly, I should acknowledge the...Danger, perhaps, that comes with that. I've never been as good at not stepping on peoples toes as I like to think I am. Lastly, I need you to know that no matter what comes of anything, you will always be a permanent fixture in my mind. There will always be a pull back to you that I can't explain.
I miss you. I hear from you almost every day, if not every other, but I miss you. We don't speak the way we used to, and I have long since acknowledged that I am, in a large way, to blame for that. But I find myself missing the deeper connection it felt we had in the past. Perhaps it was only an illusion cast on me by the frequency of our late night conversations; the only time we'd hear each others voices. And maybe that's the part I miss; what depth could truly come from teenagers at 2am? I hardly remember the conversations themselves. But there was a comfort, in having our scheduled little time together. As with many things, though, time has changed us.
Both of our worlds crumbled. Not as a result thereof, but in it's own way had a domino effect like the tearing of wounds we'd not known we had. We bled in different ways, different places. Separate, we cleaned these wounds as they continually tore themselves anew, sometimes overnight. Time has been neither kind, nor cruel. We came back to each other no better than we'd started, really. We saw the scars we placed. And then we saw the new wounds. Trivial now, seems the matters of long ago, and the freshly earned stitches of only yesterday. And still it felt as though, in the absence of those things, a desperate chill had settled in our bones. Warmth had run from tones, dissipating into the air and leaving cold stone to interpret the temperate nature of playful phrases and heavy seeds underlying worry.
We see each other broken, though not of each others hands. A weight has found a home in us, bound itself to our cores and likened itself to the daunting size of the world. Swaying in silence lest the noise disturb the frail sense of comfort that comes from our threads. Familiarity forms a live line of electric pulse, liquefying to melt in the long forgotten borrows dug by those seeking only to steal the warmth from the roots of our person. Warmth that finds us home. Home, I could only hope, we can find mutually between us.
But I find myself unable to gage the receptivity of this notion. It feels as though you're much more guarded, this time around. Not that I can say I blame you, of course. But it makes it...harder, to fight off this nagging sensation that i'm being kept at arms length for reasons well beyond my current grasp. And it leaves me to wonder why, outside of the blatant and obvious, because I couldn't hazard a guess as to what could be the new cause. It's painful, but in a way I'm not even sure I have the right, anymore, to feel. I'm....not sure I have the right to be the one who feels lost. But I know just as well, that i'd rather stir in my own confusion than to lose you again. So, writing here I sit, cursing the fire that's lit, for causing me to go have this emotional fit.
Of course, these thoughts could all just be a mirage, swimming along in my imagination to keep me from some sort of greater, more painful realization. Or i'm nuts. I could just be 100% nuts. You tell me. Or don't. I'm not so sure I want the answer, as much as it would end my pseudo philosophical monologuing.
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Signed, the child who cannot for the life of her figure out emotions,
Noni