by: Sasha Soldatow
from: Private - Do Not Open
My dear you. Hi and all that.
I am writing you fleetingly after having seen you strangely for a moment. And probably it's all too foolish, but what the hell. So I hesitate to write, yet I feel like doing so. I've wanted to write for a couple of days. I sat down one afternoon and composed a partial letter. And oh how nice and gentle and wise I wished to appear. How much I wanted to set down words that would move you. Of course I ended up feeling sorry for myself. And then feeling stupid in the morning. Like a lost shark.
I wrote, 'I don't know whether I'm going to see you again, which makes it safe to write this letter to say some of the things I want to, and it's hard...' Of course I never got past that line. Then I saw you again tonight.
You! This is a bit of a dither and a mumble. And there is a danger that I will lie back and write this out in my head, never to send it.
What am I saying? Superficial things. Like, I like you and I don't quite know why or how it came about. But I do. And then everything gets confused with sex and friendship and love and sleeping together. It's uncertainty. Yet there's the feeling of warmth somewhere in there.
You know, there are many feelings I can put words to. Like, I want to feel important to people. People I like. Flattered by their attention. Of course I hide this. Then there's the protective me who announces, 'I have survived, so I know how to be good for others.' You've seen through this. Everyone knows this strength and this kind of survival. Then there's the sex game. I protect myself here also when it comes too close, preferring the hidden comfort of my own fantasies with someone I don't care for at all. You know that too. And then there are all those things of friendship that seem to involve so many years of time, which is too long. Because I want to go through it all so instantly. I once wrote, 'I want lovers like a family. I want friends like I once had god.' I think that's still true, though I wonder if I understand what I meant.
You! Relationships are accidental. That I know. But I've been too hung up on these accidents.
Hey, it's late, and I have a heavy day tomorrow. And I feel as if I haven't said all that much. And then, I don't know what more there is to say. Except everything. Which may be nothing specific. Maybe just hi. Talking slower. Feeling more comfortable. Not pretending. Not being heavy either. Not demanding -- something. I don't know. But there is also you. And I think about you. Which is saying what I want to say.
