Dear Jean-Claude

Dear Jean-Claude

I am writing this letter to you, because although I cannot tell you the things I’m stating here, I want to in some way, make it concrete, so that it’s energy may reach you, and you’ll feel at least a pinprick of what I’m trying to convey.

I love you, first, foremost and probably, forever. I adore you, you make me feel young, innocent, flustered, ALIVE! You make my heart race, my whole body flush, and when you’re near me, people stare, because of how your presence makes my appearance change. I shine.

Because I can never have you, or even play any kind of significant role in your life, I hate this. I hate loving you, cos it makes me ache. When you are away, as you mostly are, I’m ok, as ok as I’m ever gonna be, which is good. And I even manage to sometimes convince myself that I can look at others, and eventually feel for others, and let others touch me, and maybe even shine for others, one day. And I feel good some days, and heavier than lead, other days. But the point is, I have hope. Hope that I don’t really feel the way I feel. That it’s just silliness, not real, a grande illusion. And I wake up, and I eat, and I go to work, and I raise my son. And I hope. And then, you call, or sms, or show up unexpectedly, like you felt my shielding somehow, and raced to me to fix it. To re-fasten the bindings you put on me, to splice my genes and infuse yourself into my mitochondrea, again. And a part deep deep inside, kicks and screams, and rages and wants to scratch and bite, and fight for myself, but the outer, stupid part just stands here, and shines. And the inside shrieks and burrows into my veins trying to get out and tell you, to go away, get away, and stay the FUCK AWAY. Like that would make you melt into the dimensions, and erase you from my cells, or something. Only that part never gets near enough to the surface to stop the shining, and the part that adores you, just keeps on adoring, now matter how ridiculous it is. Or how much it hurts. Cos that’s what I’m trying to say, really. It hurts, you- are- hurting- me (say that slowly so you’ll know how I wrote it).

I want you to stay away from me, with that small kernel deep inside that can reason even when you’re standing next to me, or hugging me, or touching me, (I’m even proud of that part, proud that SOME small bit can make sense you are around!), and even though the rest of me will never say that, that part will forever be screaming like a banshee, trying to wake me up. Cos that’s the smart thing, you see, staying away from you. But staying away from you feels impossible, like …. Fasting when you have low blood sugar, and you know, if you don’t eat, you’ll fall down, and if you still don’t eat, you’ll go to sleep, then to a coma, then to death. Like that. I know, it makes no sense. I know it’s not like that, loving you is not life-threatening, but it sure feels that way!

See! You phoned, and asked to see me to say bye, but I fled, and was very proud of myself for deciding. So you kakked me out for telling you that you were late, and said that you’d come over later. And the whole time my heart was pounding and I was smiling like a Cheshire Cat. SOOOOOOOO STUPID! And now, now it’s almost time to leave and you still haven’t shown. I’m not really surprised, and so far it doesn’t really hurt, but I think later …….

Don’t really know, maybe I am strong enough to stand this. Maybe one day it’ll just STOP, and I’ll see someone and want them with more of me than I want you, and they’ll be available, and kind, and mine. Maybe, if my supply of hope lasts, and I don’t lose my mind, and my heart doesn’t break so badly that it kills me, and I don’t just give up and disintegrate. In the meantime I stand on this goddamned cliff, watching you on the other side, calling to me, and I want so badly, to jump. But god knows, you’re not real, or you are, but in that respect, and for the purposes of my heart, you ‘re a mirage, something I see, that’s NOT there, NOT real, NOT an option. Sometimes I could almost hate you, if I tried hard enough, for being you (oh that’s a lie, I couldn’t, don’t know how).

I want you to leave me alone, but please, please don’t. I think I might need to figure out how to live over you, to be able to look back at you, and sweet that sweet, madonna-like smile, that says: “Ah those were strange, but good days”. So, that’s the goal for now, live right over you, move on, move on, and stop turning corners every time you feel the need to shake my very foundations.

Something I would like to know is how you actually feel, you’ve never told me that, did you know? Dunno if you really actually feel anything. I tell myself that the mere fact that you keep contact, and come to see me once a year, must mean that you do, but I guess that’s just shit, like the rest of it. Heart given to someone who may never even have wanted it. Sad. I’m an Idiot. Sela.

Whatever, right? Just another headcase, I know. I despise women who allow men to take them over, but I think I might have to rethink that, since I have joined that specific brigade. But you just go ahead and watch me, I am sure as hell gonna try, keep on rolling and rolling, I swear one day I’ll roll right over you, and kick you out of my way, without recognizing the shape of this. This horrible, gagging, suffocating, sorry thing that is what I feel for you. It’s not right, it shouldn’t live, it should be aborted. So there. Let’s try for that. And, fuck you and fuck the goddamned plane you flew in on, if you don’t agree.

Did I mention that I adore you?

Stay safe, love. I miss you.