Conversation

This morning, I got a new one for the list of things to talk to you about when finally I can again! And one yesterday, too!

And when I finally do, I'm sure they'll go whooooooosh right out of my head the moment I see those frickin' astonishing eyes. Gosh. Why do you have to be so beautiful? Couldn't you, like… tone it down a bit or something so my brain only shuts mostly off instead of completely off when I see you?

Anyways.

Reading through all of my old letters has me thinking about the whole letter writing thing in general, and my overwhelming desire to talk to you.

I don't think any of what's below is great from a mental health perspective, but… just… I guess how the way I've coped with our situation has evolved over the years. I hope… If you ever get to read these things, I hope this doesn't scare you off or anything… but, I'm all in on opening up to you, right? And I can't do this with you in real life, not yet… right?

(or can I? what if I did just text you out of the blue an invitation to meet up somewhere?)

Well. Ok. I'm dodging now, so here goes.

Way back towards the beginning, somewhere in between when you joked about staying six feet apart while taking a step towards me (and me, the huge dumbass, taking a step back… wtf is even wrong with me? Rome hadn't fallen yet, but it was teetering… even then I wouldn't have minded even a tiny bit being closer to you…) and when I started really writing in unsentletters…

I used to imagine conversations with you. Like. All the time. If you saw me out for a walk? I was thinking about what I could talk to you about. All those loops you watched me jog around the neighborhood from your front porch? I was imagining stopping and walking up your driveway and what I might say to you and what you might say back. I was working solo on a big project at work at the time, and I am honestly shocked that I managed to finish it by our deadline, because I could not think. Not about anything other than you.

If I was idle, and even frequently when I wasn't… that's what I was thinking of. “What would ⭐️ say if I told her X?” “How would a conversation about Y go with ⭐️?”

No, that's not right. I didn't just ask myself those questions. I imagined the conversations themselves. Filling in for you, how I thought it might go. So absolutely and absurdly desperate to know what was on your mind at any given moment that I made shit up to try (and fail) to fill that massive void I felt in my life.

And yes, that's what it felt like. A void. A portal to the vacuum of space in the middle of my brain, sucking in every single last ounce of my attention.

Huh. “Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull, and cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull.” I get it now. “At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet and a freight train running through the middle of my head…” Yeah, I get it, Boss. Hoo-boy, do I get it. “Only you can cool my desire.” Yeah. Anyways.

I used to dream of you (ok, well, I still do…). There were one or two dreams where I even thought… Well. I know this isn't real, but I woke up afterwards swearing up and down that it was you in the dream. Not this mental image of you I had built up, but actually you. Because… the dream you didn't react how I thought the real you might. Didn't say what I might have expected you to say. And then, later on, as I got to know you better… I saw how the real you fit, which did nothing to help me break down this notion that we somehow shared an impossible telepathic link.

Though. I think I've regained most of my senses and in retrospect I think that the truth is just that I do know you better than I thought (still not enough, not nearly enough…) and so my subconscious just did a better job of projecting what you might do than my conscious does. Or something.

Then I found unsentletters. It took me some time before I really started participating, but once I did… Well, I realized I haven't had those mental conversations with you in a really long time, and I think it's because of the letters. The letters? They're like a poor-man's one-sided conversation with you. They do not fill the void. They do not fulfill the need. They are not a substitute for you.

But… as far as coping goes… I guess they're better than nothing.

Yeah. Probably neither of those are healthy, though, are they?

But… I guess my point is… If you ever wonder if I mean it when I say that the thing I most want to do is to talk to you, to hear your thoughts, to engage with you and to find out what's on your mind… Just think of all of these freaking words I've spilled over the years in a desperate (and largely failed) attempt to try to stopper that hole in my brain where the freight train barrels through constantly…

The only person in this world that I get jealous of, other than the obvious, is your next door neighbor. So often when I'm on my front porch, I can hear your voice long before I can see the two of you. I can never make out what you're saying, it's too distant for that and my hearing isn't great — and besides, I wouldn't want to intrude. But the sound of it…

My god do I love the sound of your voice.

And… honestly… sometimes I get a bit jealous of her. Because she gets… what, half an hour? More? Nearly every day, of the one thing in this life that I am desperate to have more of: you, your thoughts, your voice, stories from your day, just you you you.

I'd kill to get that much time with you once a week. Once a month, even.

I sometimes almost (but not really at all) wish that I didn't also think you were the most ridiculously beautiful, sexiest creature walking on this planet. If my love for you could somehow be constrained to just be platonic (hah, as if)… I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to spend time together if the others didn't notice our eyes burning holes into each other's souls every time we talked?

Oh, but we do. And you know I love that, too, so I'm sure not giving it up, not unless you ask me to.

Sorry… I've talked your ear off now, and you haven't gotten a chance to say a peep. So… tell me about your day? Tell me something I don't know about you. Tell me… anything at all. Anything. Just talk to me. Talk to me. Talk to me. I want your thoughts in my ear. I don't care how long you can go on. I want it. I want it all. The more, the better. Just talk to me. Talk to me. Talk to me. Please, talk to me. Fill that void.

To me, your voice is a gift. Your thoughts put into words is my water.

And, ⭐️… I drink a lot of water. You've seen me carry that water bottle around. 22oz, refilled 5-6 times a day.

Quench my thirst, my love. I will never stop wanting more.

I love you.

Yours,
♒️