I want to write to you today, I cannot justify nor untangle my reasons why. I want it to be selfless and comforting to you, though I suspect it is only a means to comfort myself.
I read what you write, whenever you post it, and though I often phrase long passionate replies in my mind, I rarely write them. I don’t know why I do that either, which leads me to think that maybe today is simply the outpouring of all of those previous unwritten sentiments.
I love you and have since the first time we met, though it is something I strive to forget because it is so absurd, yet, every so often it flares like a bright flame cool and utterly precise and unquestionable in my mind and I miss your company as a friend even though I never truly had it.
All of this spores from what you wrote, leaks out from all the things you didn’t write. I hate it when you are fake, when you gloss over and edit out in order to please your public, in order to make it more palatable. It strikes me sometimes you are trying to be as inspirational as Emily who decorates everything with pink awe inspiring glitter. You are not her and you do not need to try. You are something darker and colder, depressed into a state of cutting weariness by the very fabric of what you are and it makes you one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever witnessed. It makes you more like me.
I dislike the strained metaphors, but take strength from the true ones. I admire the harsh honesty you inflict upon yourself the most. I suppose it is quite vulgar of me to take such solace from the observation of you torturing yourself with the ideals of who you want to be, but I conclude that I as do it to myself constantly it is equitable.
There seems to be something harsh about criticising your thoughts when they are so personal and yet so freely proffered, however you are an artist whose entire profession is constantly measured by people who know little, and like to think they know much, so in that fashion this all becomes quite fitting.
You wrote to me some time ago asking about my new life, I never responded because I didn’t know how to. I wanted to enthuse about knowledge and adventures however whenever I sat to compose all that came to me was the distinct sense that you wanted to hear how hard it all is so that you didn’t feel so alone, and like you were missing out on so much.
I have learnt a lot here, there are whole wild days where I can feel erudition flowing into me until ever border along the fabric of my being is overcome with an ecstatic saturation whereupon it is all I can do to hold myself together and not shatter with insurmountable glee!
There are other days when I spend long glittering hours staring out of high windows wondering exactly how far it really is to fall, and if perhaps it would be best to let my broken body shatter spectacularly upon the pavement with pools of viscous blood gathered around me like blooms, rather than continuing upon a path that is so utterly refuting of it’s end destination.
I like both equally.
Most days however possess no extremes in any direction, they just lull into a sustainable reality that glows with my love for Luke and that focuses upon little besides what time are lectures, what time is dinner, and have I completed the treatment chart that I have so ambitiously and judgementally laid upon my desk. I am surrounded by friends who love me and acquaintances who respect me. My life is probably more perfect than it has been for a considerably long time.
I am content but admittedly unsettled, the eternal pessimist, I am waiting for it to crash, I am waiting for my world to become like yours, and question languidly to what extent I am forcing it in that direction.
I feel like I am on hold, like this is just a process to become something else, and yet it is taking everything from me and at the end I may not actually be capable of dealing with the responsibility of what I have become. Yet I love it, more than anything else I have ever done and feel like my whole life has been a sole-minded journey to the point I am at now. Incongruously that makes me feel incredibly set and determined, I have found my purpose and a clear set ideal of what I am to become and the path I must walk to attain it, somehow that makes the walking all the easier.
I want to ask you not to give up hope, I want to ask you not to let your inspirational writing sink into a method of counting down to an end you don’t believe you will reach – however it seems crass and unfair, hold your hope where you feel it truly belongs, and let your writing continue to document your tenuious life with the cutting brutality I have come to love.
Smile through it darling, for me it you are succeeding in your aspiration to make sense of it all.
My Eternal Love and Respect