The Letter Without A Receiver
I wish you were here.
Not to be around for small talk, or to kill time when we both felt bored to the bone. Not to give me advice I would stubbornly ignore (and then hear the famous “I told you so, but you never listen” when my way didn’t work). Not to tell me inventive stories of your eccentric acquaintances and their paradoxical quest to change the world they hated. Not to set me any more examples of how I shouldn’t walk the path you almost fell into. Not to watch over me, making sure I didn’t bleed anymore. Not to hold my hand when I was trembling, overloaded with hatred. Not to cool me down when all I wanted was to burn down any highway that led me far from, well, everything. Not to tell me about how fucked up we both were. Not to wonder what would have happened differently between us if you were born a couple of years later…
I’m not that selfish. I never meant to be a burden to you, but the circumstances of our meeting were critical, and you are, or were, the best thing that ever happened to me.
What we had went beyond the line of conventional love. It went far beyond anything I’d ever seen in those Hollywood tear-jerkers you despise so much. We’re more than lovers, we’re more than siblings, we’re more than friends. We are each other’s savior. I pulled you away from the dark corners of the death wish menace you faced, and you made sure I wasn’t drowned in a sea of malevolence.
I don’t know how I’ve managed to keep holding on, after you left. I really don’t…
All I wish is that you were here, to see how much I’ve grown. I bet I’d make you proud.