I want to care for you when you are sick. I want to be there for you when you are old and tired of this world. I want to hold your hand when you feel low.

I watched a documentary. It reminded me of your time in Spain and how you didn’t talk much about it. It reminded me of another side of you that I think I never got to see. I’m really sorry for not having the courage to ask you to spend more time with me in the last couple of months we had together. I wish I could have got to know you better, find out more about you, learn more about your past, enjoy a more diverse A.

I wish I could have seen all those beautiful, interesting, crazy, strange, and even even bad person that you can be. I wish I could see you in all your glory, in all that you can be. I wish I could see you again for another half a year and do all these things with you, enjoying and getting to know each other better. I wish I could go out and do sports with you. I want to spend time together with you so much…

I want to cook with you, eat with you, drink some good wine and hold your hand, sit on the couch and talk about ourselves.

Today as I was reading about a hacking system that’s used to spy on people in international positions, I suddenly felt really afraid for your safety… I know how though of a person you are, courageous and determined. But I also know that you can be hurt and that you can be fragile. I’m afraid for you. I know I couldn’t protect you even if I was there, but I wish I could at least be near so if something happens, I can be at your side. I want to be there, holding your hand when you are sick. And I would like you to be there for me, when I’m feeling sick… I never let anyone near me when I’m sick, but I would like to make an exception for you.

I want to make new memories with you.

Can you give me something for a promise I’ve made
Because I’ve become a prisoner of the things I’ve said
Isolated incidents have brought me war
Jealousy, indifference of wanting you more

I’m afraid to contact you with my questions about your stay, about how much time you want to spend with me. I’m afraid of our first meeting, I’m afraid I’ll cry and tell you that I love you and you won’t say it back… I’m afraid that you’ll be here to say goodbye and I will be struck and just unable to do anything. I’m afraid you’ll be good and to the point, you’ll be defensive and putting space between you and me. I’m afraid that my future will not be with you, that you don’t want me. I’m afraid of your rejection. It will be so hard. I have never felt like this before. I’m ashamed of myself and really-really scared.

—

Today I was thinking, why did you do this to us? Why is it good if I start to feel indifferent? It might allow me to see you, us, from a more independent perspective. It might allow me to make a more informed decision. But it also makes things so much harder. I long for those moments where I felt nothing without you. Those moments when I felt that you were the only person in my life that mattered. It was a good feeling. Just yesterday morning I started crying in my bed, holding your 31 cards to my chest. It was so good, knowing that you cared. That I meant something to you. To feel your gentle love against me for a moment. I miss missing you. I want to feel your smell again. I want to hear your heart beat, I long to hear its rhythm again.

“And I believe in the future
We shall suffer no more
Maybe not in my lifetime
But in yours, I feel sure”

As I read your mail today morning I was sad and somehow happy at the same time. I see how much distance you have put between yourself and me. How you don’t talk about anything emotional in it. How it’s all laid out clearly but cleanly. Yet, you do want to spend time with me. But I’m afraid it might be time that is distant. The reason it was so good with you, was that I felt your closeness. I felt that you cared that there was something between us that was magical, rare, truly magnificent. It’s as if that fragile ball has been dropped and we may still spend time together, but we’ll have to start all over again. And those five short days will be very little to build again, with gentle care, what has been broken. I’m afraid to see you, all different and grown, and me being the same old me, who only changed in one way: that I would give absolutely anything for your love. But it’s not about giving. It’s about being who we are and then hoping that the other appreciates it and starts to love us again. It’s about the hope of love, that ever-elusive thing that one can chase but never truly hold.

It was good writing you this morning. And it was really scary. I probably shouldn’t have written, but I couldn’t just not reply. When I saw what you wrote, how you wrote it, I suddenly felt empty as if I had been drained. I wanted to write something short to tell you how much it means to me if you were a bit more kind, but it kept rolling and I felt like I couldn’t make it any shorter anymore. I’m sorry.

Your response was really good to read. I didn’t know what to expect back — it was so hard to write, I had trouble thinking it through. I just wanted to tell you what I felt, even if it was useless or meaningless. It’s still hard for me, really hard. But I’m glad you replied in a kinder way. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to force you to do anything. It’s so strange, I’m afraid to force you because I felt that I was always forced to love my parents, and I know how amazingly selfish and hurtful it is to ask someone to be kind. I think it’s the first time I ever did that in my life. I’m sorry.

Other than the mail I wrote, today was uneventful. I was just worried and my heart was heavy. It was so hard to stand on my legs, walk around, do things. Everything felt repetitive as if I was living a copy of a copy of a copy of my life, with all the rich, beautiful detail deteriorated into some common blur that makes no sense anymore. Lately, I feel like a shadow, sneaking through life without purpose, just waiting, waiting.

Another email and another failure. I don’t know what to say. I wish I could hear more about you, I wish I could see how you are, what you feel, where you are in this life. I wish I was there and holding your hand, I wish we were there enjoying ourselves, I wish we were kind to one another. I wish we saw the future ahead of us, I wish we could trust one another with our lives. I wish we were in an apartment together. I wish we professed our love daily to one another. I wish we were together.

I dreamed two dreams of you today. In one, I was waiting for you to arrive, but someone different came. I was surprised but I thought maybe it’s still you in there somewhere. Some of your physical features were different, some the same. You were distant and I didn’t know how to approach you. I’m afraid it was a prophetic dream. It made me think about what I saw of you and who you might be. How you might have changed, or stayed the same but showing a different side to me. It was really sad and confusing to wake up.

In the other dream, I couldn’t wake up of properly and was struggling to get out of. It was a dream that started off strangely but not scarily, turning violent in the end. When I woke up I was really afraid that you were lying next to me on the other side of the bed, and you were dead. I actually turned to check if you were there. It then occurred to me that if you were to die today, I would seriously consider not spending more time on this place. Although it would be counter to what you would have wanted: for your ideals to prosper in this world — equality, compassion, freedom — and maybe for me to be happy. But being happy without seeing you at least one more time would be impossible. There is nothing in this world that matters to me more than to see you and try to convince you that we can give a shot at gently, slowly, building a life of mutual love and respect for each other. It will take sacrifices, and I’m willing to make the vast majority of them, I just want you to accept that my sacrifices are not in any way made to oppress you, to corner you to make choices that are compatible with mine. That they would be sacrifices made of my own accord, knowing that there are no guarantees. And indeed there are none. But there is hope and I want to explore hope, a hope for a better world, a better time, and a better us.

I’ve been crying the whole afternoon. It was beautiful and amazing what we had together…. I miss you so incredibly much, it’s hard to express. I wish I could tell you how much you meant to me, how incredibly happy I am to have met you and maybe to still have some of your heart. There was so much love in there. So much care and longing, so much affection. I miss those times of easy affection of everyday happiness that I didn’t appreciate. I now see how much they matter to me.

Today I sent you some photos and a message about wanting to gently make love to you. I know I shouldn’t have done either. But there is something here, that matters so much to me. And I don’t want to be indifferent. I feel like I’m alienating you. Maybe I’m making a mistake. Maybe my whole life is a mistake.

I feel empty. As a cup filled and flushed, you were here in my life and you are now gone, never to return. I start crying in the middle of the day as I spontaneously remember our shared time, shared affection. It’s here, I know, but you moved on, escaped, let go. I hang on to this vacuum that sucks me in, as I try to fill the space you left in my heart with my own heart, but it’s impossible. There is something missing, something meaningful, something important. I feel alone and empty like a cup that’s been overturned, broken, left on its own, standing still in this cold-cold place.

I thought a lot about you today. Melancholy, resignation, and disbelief mixed, it was hard to live with myself. In the evening I went down to take a stroll and I thought about how it would be to hold your hand, stroll around there, tell you how much you matter to me. I can feel the mistakes I made. Not being honest with myself and not acknowledging how much you mean to me. Not telling you how much I enjoy your company and how terribly I would miss you. Not understanding how much you changed my life. It feels like a life sentence, you not talking to me. As I see the ship sailing by, I am ashamed and terrified. A week, a year, a life later, this will still haunt me. I’m so terribly sorry.