I know I shouldn’t. Also you said that I shouldn’t because you are not ready for another relationship. And I know we are too far apart. But it’s just so nice to see something and immediately want to share it with you. It’s exhilarating to think what you’d say, to hear you being happy about it. I wanna share so many things I find with you, and just wanna discuss endlessly. I know it doesn’t make any sense. I know it’ll lead to nowhere. But the possibility is just so tempting. You are so far, yet so close in my mind. I’ll miss you more than I should, when it’s all over and all I’ll have of you is memories, fragments of happiness, forever stored, the details forgotten but the feelings forever etched into my memory. Miss you, Ann. Miss you.

Being at Centopassi with C., there was a lesbian couple next to us and they made me think of you, Ann. How I wish I could be with you, there, casually touch your hands, like she did, put my hands on your legs. You are so cool. I wish I knew as much about (solar/lunar/polar)punk and cyberphunk as you do. I wish I could hear you talk more about governance, and your findings in this space. And I wish I could be as optimistic about the world, as you are. I wanna get to know you more. I am not sure you feel the same, though. But it’s nice to imagine. One has to look forward to something. I look forward to getting to know you.

I remember being late, embarrassed about being late. And I remember the sadness I felt when you wrote to me, when I was at the airport, that you don’t want to meet again. I wonder why. Nevermind. Just, sad.

Miss you and I don’t want to go without you. It’d remind me of all the things. Biking with you that night was magical. Miss that time so much.

I miss holding you during the fireworks. On that beautiful balcony used by Merce Cunningham. You in front of me, us having the best view. It was magical. I remember pulling you in strongly at one point and you just held on stronger to my hand. It was magnificent. One of the very few so-called celebrations, celebrations that others tend to be so fond of, making sense to me. It was so good to belong.

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.