I was just re-watching a film, “Now is good”, and one of the characters asks the other, what do you want? The other answers, but the answer seems to only touch the surface, and then the first character asks again… What do you really want? At this point, it came back to me. This is how I felt when she told me about a simple, but somehow important memory of hers. The honesty and non-theatricality of it struck me as somehow making an important moment easy to embrace.

It makes me sad she hasn’t replied to my last mail. I thought I was being good. I think that in these letters everyone can always see the real meaning, the words somehow covey more than the mere thought. The feeling is palpable. I often think of her. It’s interesting how I still care about her, how she is still real for me, even though I am probably nothing but a distant memory of hers. I find this asymmetry interesting, somehow mysterious, kind of like a question mark that permeates my everyday life. How can we mean so different things to each other if feelings are supposed to be common and shared?

I remember the second time we met, we were sitting on the couch, and my friend just left the room. We looked at each other, and started kissing. Until that point, I wasn’t sure what would happen between us the second time… she felt distant. Maybe I should have been more careful. But, why be so protective of oneself? It’s like living in a bubble: if you never try reaching out, you will never know where the walls are. The risks are that you burst the bubble — but at least you now know how that feels. I have to say: it feels really beautiful and sad at the same time.

I wish I could explain her. But there is nothing much I can explain, I’m afraid. She probably knows the feeling, and can’t do much about it. Just like me not being able to do anything about her not feeling the same way. It’s the reality of life, something I have been trying to evade for the past year.