Dear You,
I’m getting married. November 11, 2016. And I swear, the second thing that occurred to me right after I said, “Yes” was “I can prove that it wasn’t obsession now; I can prove I wasn’t a stalker. Now, surely, even he will see it.”
Sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever get over how much I wanted to know you for life. It’s the ultimate unfinished business, you know; the unrequited friend. Even love eventually fades. Friendship is the only “forever” humans really know, I think.
A path of stones to the ocean, worn smooth by my mental feet.
All the people who left before, they were broken, like me. They didn’t count because, frankly, I didn’t count. How can you be angry for someone leaving when you can see so clearly they hated themselves just as much as you do (did)?
I was never angry, but hurt. Like you.
The part that hurt most wasn’t that you left, it was that it meant nothing to you that I refused to; that it didn’t matter to you that the one thing everyone always does, I was refusing to do.
Even now, all these years later, here I sit… eyes stinging as I pound out the next sentence, wondering what it will even be, and of course, wondering why it still is. I left my heart on a sandy knoll, in Desolace, bleaching slowing into sand with the other charnel offerings.
They weren’t just words, you know. I never spoke so truly, both in sweetness and in sharpness. All I had to lay on the ground was myself. So I did.
That’s the feeling. That one right there. Not that it wasn’t good enough… that it wasn’t even recognized. Yes, I know, you did the same. I’m sorry. Like you once said of me, I’ve been through so much that if I even have the appearance of sanity, it’s a wonder. Far from perfect and just as well, I’ve never desired it. I am, albeit intermittently, sane. Just like any of us… all of us.
I think Jim has the right of it; he says no one can admit they hold their mind above all others.
I think we created the perfect illusion – reflection infinite – the vanishing point. Once I really understood that it cannot be recognized, I understood the comedy of it all. Farcical. The comedy of a “me” – a lifetime engagement, naturally.
But I see it everywhere. It’s beautiful really; every moment is a lesson.
Years ago, one of your friends asked me, “Why does it matter so much to you?” I couldn’t explain it. Even now, I see so clearly that it doesn’t fit into words. My first regret.
I’ll share my second because I want it to be proof that I never intend to have a third. That’s why I’m writing. I refuse to spend the rest of my life pretending that I will ever be ok with not knowing you as a friend.
Whiplash alert.
Richard (Otter) died on the phone with me, long distance, NC to WA. I loved him, too. He was my friend. As I was his.
I was terrified that Richard would discover what I discovered some months after we met, the degrees of connection were a mere 2, maybe even 1. I actually distanced myself from him when I found out. The replay of those lies, to endure “stalker” again… no thank you.
Distance without silence, Richard and I. I always told him that if I wasn’t his second call when he needed help (his son, Sean, being the first), I would be deeply hurt and offended. He always told me to remember to care for myself, too. I admired most of him that he was completely himself. It didn’t register at the time, of course. But over the days of his dying, as I conferred his friends from all over the world to him, I realized it.
He and Max and I held conference call vigils so they could be together as he died. He had some odd falling out with two of his friends, which made me sad. I had found them for him and they traveled from Florida to be with him. I’m not sure what was said when they arrived, but they all parted on terrible terms (I later discovered).
I thought of you then, too; wryly, one of those, “This feels like trying to help you understand that I care simply because I care” things. You’re not perfection in my mind, you know. That’s part of your charm. Heh.
The struggle over whether or not to reach out to you and let you know Richard died was great. In the end, I decided against it. My conditioning against proximity to “stalker” is complete. Thank you. Literally. It helped me learn more than a few things.
I can’t think of much more to say beyond the basics, I suppose – I’m so glad you are happy, at least from what I can see. I found my Gilead two years after you, better late than never, for sure. Never in my life have I been as content as the moment in which I murdered The Man Who Does Not Exist.
You, I counted as a friend. A triple B friend, a thrice bound friend…. I’m so sorry that all I could do was things you could only see as harmful and hurtful. None of the hurt or harm here was or is attributed to you. You’ve done nothing wrong to me and I truly hope you have not (nor will ever) to yourself.
I’m sorry I cannot make 9 years become a lifetime of silence and distance; I will not lie and say I am sorry for writing you.
I recall that you told the Scrytch list (albeit you thought privately) that I was an Agent. Are not we all? Yes, I am an Agent, but I am not agentic. My programming is life, love, and light. You have my heart in friendship and it will love you in friendship all my lives.
“Friendship is love without his wings.” – Lord Byron – You can understand you’re not the focus, you’re not the object, you’re just you. Right? Just a human that I will always think of as my friend.
My once and future friend,
All the best to you and yours,
Always and in all ways,
Still.
Me