I am sorry. I felt so alone. So incredibly alone with you. When you were sewing, I thought you were ignoring me. Last night you told me it was a wonderful, together time for you with me. I am so sorry that I didn’t realize this. I think I was depressed. I tried telling you this, that I was broken. I tried communicating. I really-really tried, I pushed myself so hard for you. But it’s over now. I am not sure I will survive this year. It’s not your fault, but I don’t think I will. I don’t think I want to. I think it’s time to go.

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.

You let me dream of you, but you make me afraid, terrified, crawling back to you. I feel the same way I did with my AT. It was like walking on eggshells, always. You know, you are right, mostly, but the way you tell me about it is so harsh. I wonder if I deserve that, or it’s just me being used to being talked to softly. I wonder why I deserve this. You say that you are just trying to be honest with me. But I feel like I can hardly share anything with you, because you come in with really strong criticism of most of the things I do. It’s really hard. I want to learn to be better, but it’s hard to do it when much of what I say is met with such strong criticism. I try to be gentle with you. I wonder if I have just been living a comfortable life, hence this feedback is so hard to take. Not sure. Also, you are rarely loving. Much less than before. I know you warned me that you are going through a tough time. I mean… it’s tough for me, too, you know. I guess I’m supposed to stick around. I have to say I have had some thoughts otherwise. It’s really-really difficult for me to stick around when I’m so incredibly uncomfortable. I don’t know. It’s hard. Anyway. It is what it is.

One day I might die, but having been with you, having loved you, will always remain with me. I am terrified that you’ll leave me, but I know that this feeling, this deep love will stay, forever.

This stupid UTI I have… I managed to do the thing I was afraid you’ll do. I can’t even fathom how incredibly stupid I am, how terribly dumb I got. It’s absolutely insane. I wanna just hurt myself for being so fucking dumb, having done this to myself when you are coming. It’s insane and crazy and stupid and I wish I wasn’t so dumb. I regret this sooooo much. I feel like a complete moron.

You are on vacation, having fun with someone else, and I feel alone. I feel left out, while you spend a week with someone, while you spend only 4 days with me. I don’t know, it’s hard, to know that you have all that time for others, but so little for me. Maybe I’m just jealous of you having so much fun, while I’m not having so much fun at all. I am also thinking that I’m trying to make sure every minute you’ll be here I’ll be good an healthy so I can be with you for sure, while you are risking going around and doing all those things. At the same time, it could just be my jealousy talking. I don’t know. I had trouble sleeping two nights ago, I had all these thoughts of you being far and away and having fun and being with others, while you spend so little time with me. I miss you, and I want more of you, more of your time, more of you being with me, here, physically, next to me. I have your photo on my desk, smiling at me, this is the first time I’ve done this, ever, of putting someone in a frame, looking at me, that I am with. It’s difficult. I miss you, and I want you, but you are not here, you are elsewhere, and you spend a lot of time with others. I feel inadequate. You know, sometimes, I didn’t spend time with people, because they were having so much fun, that it made me feel like crap, that I’m just being boring, and I wish I was doing what they are doing. I don’t know how to feel. It’s hard. Some moments, I know that I want to spend my life with you. Other moments, you remind me that you are with someone else, and are spending more time with them than you are spending with me. This duality is hard to swallow. It’s difficult to live with. I sometimes feel like an also-ran, a backup plan, some kind of escape hatch. I wonder if I choose this deliberately. Does this arrangement make me happy? I am not sure. Sometimes, I wake up, and it’s the best day ever. And sometimes, you write me something, and it reminds me that you are with someone else, spending more time with them than you are with me, and I feel sad, and lonely, and some kind of second option. I’ll have to think about this. It’s hard to swallow. It really is. Some moments, I wanna tell you I love you, and other moments, I wish you didn’t tell me you are in the arms of someone else, that you are spending, and will be spending, more time with, than with me. I wonder if this will change with time. I wonder if I want to live like this. I also wonder whether I want to live at all, but that’s another bag of worms. I just need to be careful, because one can of worms can open the other, and… I’m not sure I have anyone around to keep me here.

Post Scriptum. Maybe all I’m supposed to get of you is a part. Maybe I’m not supposed to get you all. Maybe nobody ever could, or would. Maybe it’s just what I get to have. I don’t know if I want to live with that. It’s hard, and it makes me sad. It’s the feeling I feel when someone leaves me. It’s… hard. I don’t know what the solution is. So many feelings, so little space to express them. I wanna tell you about these when you are here, but you will only be here 3-4 days. And I don’t want to ruin it by talking about all this. I feel trapped. I miss you. I miss you dearly.

I remember the time you were incredibly happy with everything I wrote or did. I miss those times. I don’t know what happened. I guess it’s K. I just want you to know that I still look up to you the same way you did then. And I care just as deeply as then.

I’m not sure I’d survive that. I… am not sure. I don’t even understand what I feel. I like your closeness. I love your love. And I don’t know what happened to that. There were… moments when you were SUPER close. I wonder if you got afraid. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know. I don’t know.

It’s everywhere I look
From Las Vegas to right here
Under your dresser
Right by your ear

It’s creeping in sweetly
It’s definitely here
There’s nothing more deadly
Than slow growing fear

Life was full and fruitful
And you could take a real bite
The juice pouring well over
Your skins delight

But the shadow it grows
And takes the depth away
Leaving broken down pieces
To this priceless ballet

The shallower it grows
The shallower it grows
The fainter we go
Into the fade out line

(The Fade Out Line by Phoebe Killdeer & The Short Straws)

Yeah, the fade out line. I’ve been fearing the fade out line. I feel that AG visiting me will be like some kind of crazy moment where I will fear fading away less. Spending more time with her would make this place so much more meaningful. So much more worth living for.

Writing them to you feels like the time we used to write these elaborate emails to each other with A. And you have the same first name. But you are not the same. You are challenging me, and this time around, I am taking the challenge seriously. I’m not letting this pass me by. You are wonderful, more than you realize. I love that you love dance, and you read IBS, and are curious about the world. I love that you don’t get dazzled by my emails, and meet me right where I’m at. That you know what it means to write things that are hard to write. You take them and process them, and respond with wit and grace and love. I wish you were living in Berlin. I’d never let go.

I remember sitting in that booth at HAU in 2014, listening to phone calls, with A. It was wonderful. A magnificent time. Sitting there, next to her, being taken away, being attentive. A time of immense joy.

“my heart’s in my hand, and my hand is pierced, and my hand’s in the bag, and the bag is shut, and my heart is caught” – Phil Collins