i wanted you to feel the same

Dear K-

I’d ask you to forgive me, but I have trouble even forgiving myself these days. My life has been a wilderness, and I’ve become the naughty child who wanders off alone and off the path. Why should I be startled, then, by the twigs and branches which snap against my face and limbs? Why should I cry out in surprise when I feel the bite of the thorns and brambles against my flesh? When I decide to start deviating from the “planned course” of my life, I should surely expect to encounter a few unpleasant thickets.

I can’t go back there. my dreams are empty now. my memories are less like elaborately painted masterpieces and more like snowflakes which flutter and drift as small hazy specks across my face, leaving only a small sting of cold to even hint at their existence before they melt away into obscurity once more. I sat for hours today pondering a note I found scribbled upon an old notepad from a year ago. It asked simply “where does trolley 37 go to sleep?”

I couldn’t remember. I used to know every cobblestone, every jumbled Slavic street name, but now I can’t even recall such a trivial fact of where the autobus 37 shut down for the night.

I miss you, but somehow I don’t think it makes a difference. We’ve become each other, don’t you get it? Am I really missing you, or am I only missing myself? When I look into the mirror and find my nose bloody, am I the culprit? This slick, near-black blood that smears over my fingertips (our fingertips?) seems more like the juice of a summer blackberry than something so precious, so necessary for my life.

Speaking of life, the doctor told me that my heart skips beats.

Mendlovo namesti. Fucking mendlovo namesti. That’s where the 37 goes to sleep.

Regrettably mistaken,
-K

When Will Everything Be Alright?

Dear K,
Did you write that last letter to me? Or was it me that it wrote it to you? I'm still so confused. Did I do that when I was drunk? Did I hit you? Did you just pretend that you hit yourself when it was really my fist? Is my nose bleeding or was it your nose? We've got to figure this all out before everything comes apart at the seems.

Anyway I'm better now, I think. Maybe. Out here in the mountains I don't sweat at night, and I'm shivering in the morning even though it is summer still. The peaks aren't even white yet. The shack that I live in doesn't have insulation and there are holes that let moths in when I stay up writing with a flashlight because there is no electricity.

But I'm better. I think my insides are fixing themselves. I think that everything is going to be better.
It was nice to see you for a while though. Even though when you were around it felt like you were further away, it was nice to dance with you and maybe watch everyone around us age a little while we got confused about who was who and why we ever met.

But I'm better now.

How are you?

Have you left yet?

I'm going to miss you.

And I hope this isn't sappy, because I mean it platonically:

Love,
K

Dear K,
Was there ever any chance for us?
I mean right now I'm not so sure there was ever any chance for me.
My right nostril is bleeding right now. It is my fault. I thought that my arm would stop my fist before it hit my nose. That was my fault, I should have known that I'm stronger than I let on.

I'm messed up. Right now I don't think that anyone thinks I'm worth anything.

God is the cruelest person I've ever prayed to.

Apologies for introducing myself, K.

Dear K,

Lately I've been listening more. This isn't a good thing. I listen too much already. A person is supposed to have a healthy balance right? Take in give out. But I just don't have anything to give out. I'm getting greedy. I just want to sit and listen and never have to say anything ever again.

If I sewed my mouth shut do you think people would notice? I think I'd like to do that. I'd like to have the assumption out there that I'm not going to reply.

But I guess that's half the point of listening, people want you to reply, because they think that if you don't say anything then you haven't heard anything.

I'm just tired of being who I am and I want to move on and move away. I want so badly to leave.

Leaving,

K.

Reality: We're Both So Bad At It

Dear K,

What does it matter where I live? You live in dreams all day. You have your head in the clouds, I love this about you, but you need to come down from there. When was the last time you told anyone how you really feel.

So what if I want to be across the ocean again? You want to live the bohemian life. I'm getting my degree in something useful, I'm going to make things happen for me. I've got plans and goals. I'm going to get back there.

I know you'll say that it is stupid to live for somebody else. Probably because you think I'm living for him, I'm not. It is about more than him. When I was there I was free to be what I am. They didn't know me, I was a complete mystery to everyone I met, and instead of believing that they knew who I was they took the time to understand who I could be. Maybe that's why I'm trying to get back so hard, so I can become that person I wish I was.

Affections Tainted by Past Interactions,

K

reunited but alone

Dear K-

It has been some time since I’ve heard from you. I guess I always expected that when you returned you would be more eager than ever to see me, to pick up where we had left off, have glorious adventures together and give me great inspiration to write about in my novel. What ever happened to the plans of chess games, coffee dates, and drinking beer until we couldn’t see straight? I guess when you’re an ocean away, it’s easier to make plans and promises about what will be. When it comes time to execute, you always did falter at the gates. But then again, I’ve never been the most motivated individual, either.

It is almost disappointing how much you seem to miss it. You spoke so much of how you didn’t miss this life, you didn’t miss a single soul…and yet now here you are longing for a distant coast and a time zone seven hours ahead of our own. My advice? Come back to face reality. You’re in America; there are people here who care about you just as much, if not more. You have a good life here. Are you really just going to look over all that and run off again?

You can’t keep running.

I stopped running a long time ago. I’m not saying that I’m happy, but at least I’m not as miserable as some people. You have to take what you’re given. I’m making the best of what I’ve been dealt. It’s not a royal flush, but I still have a pair of nines. Things will eventually start to turn my way if I am patient long enough.

I know you have trouble understanding that. You always feel the need to be busy every second, every hour, every day. What are you trying to distract yourself from? Are you just treading water?

It somewhat reminds me of the story of the mice in the bucket of cream…some just gave up, stopped swimming, and drowned. But one mouse kept swimming, kept struggling, and eventually churned the cream into butter and saved himself from drowning.

But I don’t think we’re mice in a bucket of cream. Wake up, face life, live.
Regards,
-K

Dear K,

I'm not sure which one I am anymore. Now that we, (I) (Us) are in K, I am a little bit confused. Am I you or am I me? With the geographical divide things were easier. I knew where you were, and you knew where I was.

Maybe things will get better though. I think we're separating in the spring again. Then we will know who is who, and why.

Maybe then we will talk more, like we used to, even when all the little things in our lives got in the way.

I wish you could be happy here.

I wish I could be happy here.

I have to go now, somewhere and someone else is calling me.

-K.