I had this dream today, of you having a huge instagram group, where you talk a lot with your friends, having fun, but I’m not invited. You also told me you got pregnant from F. but you are going to abort. It was strange. I felt excluded from your group. You seemed bubbly and happy there, in the group. I felt excluded, a pariah. You didn’t want me to see you naked, originally, but then your clothing slipped, and you had a big (pregnant?) belly and larger breasts. You bent over me and I started kissing you all over. It was wonderful but also very distant, sad.

I am afraid you are coming to Berlin to break up with me. You don’t respond to my messages, not really. You simply write your own thing, if even that. As if you were living on another planet. When I sent a postcard about a week ago, and you received it, you were quite upset about it potentially making K. upset. It felt like that was your main concern. It felt surreal, strange, empty of love and compassion and hope and care. I remember this thought I had, one night, that I am back to where I was as a kid. They used to like me, the first few days. Then they got to know me and started hating on me, being afraid that I would make their friends leave them, that they’d be a pariah, instead of me. I became an outcast. I feel like the outcast. It’s hard to put into words how much this affected me, when I realized. That among the partners you have, I’m the pariah, the person you are afraid to alienate you from the others. That I need to be shunned.

I remember the A. who would write me a bunch of hearts in the morning. I’d wake up to it and it was the most wonderful thing. I remember the A. who would try to restrain herself from writing to me as long as she could, and she could only do it for half a day, because it was exciting and interesting and fun and she couldn’t stop thinking about me. I know these days are over, and I also know that they are more likely to happen in the first days of a relationship. But they can also happen later. They are not confined to the first few days. You can fall in love again, and again, and again.

I don’t know what to do. Maybe I should confront you about this before you land in Berlin. I’m afraid, terrified, of losing you without even being able to see you. I want to see you. I want you to sit on my lap and I want to tell you that you matter to me. I have been having some really rough thoughts lately. I am not sure I will do too well if you leave me. It’ll be one of the toughest, hardest, most painful things in my life.

I tried, you know. I fell in love with you, deeply, truly, and I decided not to let go. I realize now that this is what I also did many-many years ago, with AP. But I did let go there, in the end, I couldn’t tell her I loved her after some distance that grew between us. I spent two weeks gnawing on my pain, holding it inside. I suddenly felt that maybe the same will happen, when you land — I’ll be unable to tell you how I feel, and you’ll be distant, and we’ll be… sad. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Post Scriptum: You made my year incredibly happy. I should be immensely grateful for that. You make this life worth living. I am glad you were here, with me, for this short time. It made all the difference. You made me really happy. I am so glad you exist, you live and breathe and love and care and get angry and impatient and upset. All of you, ALL of you, is wonderful.