Dear you know who,
There is a continuous fight in my head regarding what is right and wrong to think. My mind is full of words, pictures, short clips about… everything. I analyze small details in order to get a confirmation of how you feel about me. I only see the way you do not look at me. I thought a lot about how to put this into words, and the only idea that came to mind was to talk to you through a letter that I will never send.
Humans are subjects to a science experiment called change. I will always be a work in progress, no matter how hard I try to get a certain result, I will always get to a new formula that has an unknown variable. I will always try to find that “X" even if there is no certain value to it. There are billions of equations that I have solved so far, but with every problem clarified, infinite more formulas appear which I cannot get a final result to. I am not a mathematician, I am a simple person that is trapped in a cycle. My little secret is that… At some point in time, you made me forget about my pleasure of finding this “X”, or my pleasure of looking at details that are all around me, and my essence. I tried to introduce you to my world, a strange one I need to admit. I was telling you my theories, about the books that influenced me, my goals of reading so much, that I will not have enough space for all of them, physically speaking. I let you inside my relationship with music and the power of a note tangled with the perfect verse. At the beginning, that was fascinating for you, but later, it was too tiring. You came so close to me and let me see inside you. I never tried to change anything, but you tried to change me because I am not realistic. You introduced me to shallow conversations with people that I was not always getting along with. I compared the You that you are with me to the You when you are with others. I was happy that I got to interact with that piece of yourself that sees the world differently, but that was not for long. You disappeared in a fog made by mundane realities and dragged me into it as well. It was fun at first, but I started missing myself. I missed the real me, the one that looked for small details. I was told that there is no place for my exaggerated imagination there.
The small details make the difference. Those apparently insignificant gestures are the hardest to control, even uncontrollable because our subconscious is making them. Our control over them is almost 0. How the body is moving closer or further away from a person, the eyes that are trying to avoid a certain image, the way the voice changes its pattern when it comes to words that are from the heart or when they are said just because it is a must, the forced smile and the sincere one, how uncontrollable laughter is brought by someone, the little sentences of comparing two different persons… express the deepest thoughts. Everything put together paints the picture of what is it behind closed doors. In the moment, when somebody is showing more of the way that they do not look at you rather than the way they do see you, it is like the absence is more appreciated than the presence.
I am curious, how did I make you feel? Where were my mistakes? I want to understand what I did wrong, because… this would not have happened otherwise. It was not about a big love, the platonic one that, in the end turned out wrong, it was not a romantic love either. It was about a connection between two people that lived under the impression that they knew each other differently, or at least one of them did. I am far from perfect, but I want to learn. I explained what happened to me and why I am not there anymore, even if I want to be. There was a disconnect between us that demanded more than what we had. We were not mature enough, maybe to fix it, realize it, accept it or maybe the compromise was too big for both of us. I am easy to replace in any circumstances. I am hard or impossible to love. I feel everything is too intense. I know all of that. I was not capable of loving myself enough not to take some remarks personally, or not to hurt when somebody that is important shows that maybe you are not valuable enough for emotional investment. The moments that we spent together were about acceptance, trust, honor and communication. I do not know what truly happened to you after this experience, if I ever left a mark on you and how you remember me. I want to know who I was to you back then and what I am to you now. I know the things that I am not. A painting is not described by what it does not represent, but by the feelings that it can bring to life. This is what souls are like, paintings that are in a continuous change, sometimes ripped apart and recreated. Paintings that create their infinite galleries. I am not saying that I am talented, nor am I saying that I am perfect. I am finding my piece in the details that are around me. My love gallery is building, I do not know how to love, but this does not mean that I am not worthy of it. Somebody said that there is going to be one that will be willing to teach me what love is, even if I have a war inside.
I want you to know this. I still care about you in a way that is strange for me as well. You were a part of my life, one that will always be important in my journey as someone that is looking for a deeper meaning. I am sorry that I came with a baggage of emotions and I’ve projected on you when I should not have. Maybe I did it subconsciously. I made you who you are not, and I want to apologize for that. I am sorry that I let you in too late and somehow frightened you with the world that I live in. I would do things differently now, but I will never regret the chance I had to get to know you. My last memory shared with you is an honest hug and a beautiful smile, and an intense last look as we go our separate ways. If we ever meet on the street, I would like to say a little "Hello" followed by an invitation to a conversation. I want to know who you are now. What is your last memory of us?
With sincere thoughts,
Someone from a different reality
Flavia-Ioana Tofan