I remember walking back to your home on the second date we had, and while walking I suddenly got afraid that we are close to your place. I asked, instinctively, if we are close, and you said no, and I remember saying how relieved I was that we have more time to talk. It was… one of the most honest moments I’ve had. That fear that the end is close but I wanna spend more time with you. Every moment was precious.

(Mike Mills, “Love is Worth It”, 2004. Photography by Todd Cole)

I was watching this film by Mike Mills, and suddenly there it was, pictures of New York, and I felt back precisely where we were. You and me, walking across the Williamsburg bridge, you in your Birkenstocks, your weird glass frame, casual, funny, meaningful. I wanna go back to sipping coffee in your bed, and tell you that nobody is replaceable. That we are told that if we break a glass we can just buy a new one, that if we lose our keys we can just make copies, that if we lose friends we can just befriend others. But it’s not true. There is no one else like you. There really-really isn’t. There’s only you. It took me a long time to learn this. I miss all that is you. There’s gonna be nobody “like you” ever again. We are not supposed to say this, because it’s insanity, to make loss so significant, and impossible to repair. But insanity it all is, this life.

She’s actually fun. Funny. Caring, I think. Sexy. Aware of herself. Quite clear in communication. Maybe a bit too clear? But also level-headed, which is nice. And easy to spend time with. Maybe there’s something there. I need to learn to open up without all the crazy jumping in too deep and being alone. Would be really nice. I wonder.

I’m giving you a nightcall to tell you how I feel
I’m gonna drive you through the night, down the hills
I’m gonna tell you something you don’t want to hear
I’m gonna show you where it’s dumped, but have no fear
(London Grammar: Nightcall)

You know, you guessed it. It was strange. Eerie. Beautiful. I remember, you asking, and you knew what I said wasn’t it. That there’s something deeper. Something more sad. I thought about that. How you knew, how you felt it. I wish I could have told you. But I needed more time. I wanna go back. I wanna have more time. Take you where it’s dumped. All this sadness, all this pain.

You know, it’s rare that someone does that. Actually, it’s so rare that I can only list you, and A. It’s strange, and sad, and uplifting. You made it so easy. You were so good at making me happy. Listening, but also making me listen, and pay attention, and think about what I say, and how I say it. You made words matter. And it was so good making words matter to you. It was something that made me feel alive, making you happy, seeing you care, about me, about us.

I wish you were less strong, and wrote me, so I could write you back. But I know the most beautiful part was not writing, it was talking, and being in the same space with you.

I was sitting at Gorlitzer Park with friends, and the moment I sat down I had this intense feeling of missing you. I think it came to me partly because the first thing I thought about sitting down there is that I want to take you there if you come in August. I’ve been collecting ideas where to take you when you come. I wanna make your time enjoyable. I want you to be happy, like the way you made me happy in New York, taking me to all those amazing places and walks. I miss you so much. I know this means little, but I miss you and I wanna hug you. I was at Tempelhofer Feld the other day, and there was this really cool happening, people put some music up, serving some beer, chilling on the grass, and I thought, I wish I had you there with me, it would be so nice. We’d just hang out on the grass, cuddle, talk, drink, and enjoy a beautiful summer day together. I wanna spend more time with you. I know I barely know you, but still, it’s so nice to imagine you being here. I’d love to wake up with you in the apartment, have a lazy breakfast together, just be together with you. This apartment, this place, feels empty without you.

She was so easy to spend time with. Funny, kind, smart. Lots of things to share with, thought deeply about things. Good with people, and so kind to me. It was good to write her the letter on the plane. It’s been an extremely long while I had the chance to do that. She’s distant. I know and understand why. But I wish she wasn’t.

I seemed to have associated Wicked Game, as performed by Tenacious D with you, Issy. Strange. So little to hang on to, sometimes, and so we find ourselves someone to hang on to. And I found you. Sorry about that. Miss you, though.

I was watching Kevin Bridges and his rant on vaping and it reminded me of you, Issy, your vaping and your funny, self-deprecating way of talking about it. Being aware of your faults and not being ashamed. I know this is all meaningless, you don’t remember me at all, but it was nice, listening to you, and it’s nice, remembering you. The other day I was walking on the street and a thrown away vape battery caught my eye. I took it and thought about checking it out, how it works, and it reminded me of how you were lamenting that you were using single-use vapes, and how bad of a person you are for it. You were so funny, you know.

Not long after HQ called me up on my birthday and nearly made me cry (by asking me to take care of myself, but for whom, I asked, and I cried), I had a dream of meeting A and her telling me she loves me, to which I responded, I love you too, and then cried uncontrollably in my dream. Then I woke up. HQ, you can still make me cry. Sad but beautiful.