Letter to S.K.

Dear S.,

 

We haven’t talked in years, 5-6 maybe, and I’m still sorry about how things ended. There was no specific end really; it was more like a wheel that simply stopped turning, nothing drastic, and nothing dramatic.

I admit I was angry, but at the same time happy for you. People do choose their love over friends sometimes, it happens. And I don’t resent you.

 

The only reason in using you as an addressee is because you won’t ever reply to this, not to mention read this. Though, I will gradually begin to miss you more than ever as this letter continues…

 

I don’t think I’ve ever had a closer friend in school. People used to think we had a thing for each other because we were writing each other letters, long, long letters.

And we lived less than 15 min away from each other.

 

The last thing I heard from your sister was that you married the girl. Without inviting me. Without letting me know. And you quit your job to go back to school.

Sometimes I ask myself why, whether it was true that her jealousy drove you to let go of me as a buddy.

I never used to be jealous, but after dating people who were -kind of made me become like them. They’d been hurt, so in order to save themselves, they choose to hurt you before you hurt them.

It’s like a person with PTSD who rejects people before getting rejected.

I don’t want to become what I hate…

Ha, remember how easy-going I used to be.

Speaking of which, I’m sorry for being so insensitive by filling you in with my boy problems in the past, but there was no one understanding enough to talk to. And you never gave me any implications about how you felt about me. So I never really knew. And I never asked.

 

I wonder what you’re doing these days, or how you’re doing. Back then I never believed that true love existed. I do hope that she’s making you happy. I remember you telling me that you had a thing for shorthaired red heads. I hope she’s worth it.

Or maybe things have changed, but I don’t know anything about you right now. It’s maybe better this way.

Do people change, you reckon? Probably not, it’s the perception, the point of view, nothing more. I agree it’s true that we need other people in our lives to help reflect ourselves; maybe their perception of you can help in becoming a better person.

I have always been scared of compromises. It sounds like the need to change and adapt, and then there is pressure. Nonetheless, I am compromising, and given for who I am I am struggling. After all, I am still me – me who cannot reconnect with her writing persona at the moment. That’s the only thing that makes me feel alone and sad.

 

I am trying to follow my dreams, execute the plans that I have in mind, but I lack the motivation and ambition. I need so much time for implementation and work is coming along so slowly. It still takes me two to three hours to write a single paragraph. So imagine how bad of a talker I still am. In all seriousness I don’t even know how to articulate myself in German anymore. I don’t even want to open my mouth, but everyone wants to hear things, even the most insignificant sound.

 

I just bought The Dunwich Horror by Lovecraft, because Lovecraft’s writing involves so much spite and God knows why, I can relate to this spiteful voice! It’s just like the detached voice of Patrick Bateman or the voice of any of Houellebecq’s characters, like the eloquence of Cioran about us “vertical carrions”. It’s like speaking my soul, or pretending to be someone that I am not. And yes, that’s when fiction serves as meditation.

Do you think anyone would even understand if I explained it to them? That I like goriness and monster personalities in fiction just because they help filter and numb my own feelings and anger? They would all call me fucked up. Fucked up…

Well, at least I am working on my emotions, aren’t I? Could be worse, a lot worse.

 

Back in those days when we were still writing to each other almost regularly I still had it, I didn’t even need motivation; it all just flowed naturally. Our love for Kafka was inspiring enough to write 20-page letters.

 

I wish I could tell you in person about my current adventure. Maybe your sister has been following my updates and told you about me. She and I haven’t spoken in a while. I hope she is well.

Selfishly enough, I just don’t want you to forget about me.

“Friends come in and out of our lives, like busboys in a restaurant.”

I am going to accept this.

 

Despite my struggle to write, my adventure is a good one. It doesn’t matter where I am, I will do the same things over and over; it’s just with different people at a different place. And if I am smart enough I will avoid doing the same mistakes again.

 

I will always remember you as young Werther, however, not with the sorrows, because Charlotte loves you. I am only Wilhelm who is happy for you…

 

Yours, P.

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