Letter To You
Dear you,
hey, we meet again. 2 years and we meet again. a lot of things had passed in these 2 years. can you imagine that? it has been 2 fucking long years in which we have never exchanged meaningful words. but it had been 2 years. i was sixteen and now i am eighteen. and yet, i am still nothing but a child.
do you know how i feel when you invited me to come over? well, i was happy, but not that ecstatic. i have my own life right now. i have tasted something more than just your hand against my skin. i have cried for more than just a lingering memory of those seven beautiful days.
i thought i have grown up.
but no, i came back to you, smiling wide, wondering whether you were going to hug me when we met at the train station. you did, though.
(and that would be the only time you ever held me. a hello and a goodbye, never something in between)
i had so much fun. really. you taught me stuff. i knew how to play texas hold'em which actually became a great deal because i could brag about it now and wouldn't feel left out when all the guys played it. i really had so much fun, even when we did nothing, watching some movies or just hearing those tunes bleed into my ear, etching something i couldn't really make out that would drive me to tears instead.
one thing that touched me was how you still had that drawing. i thought about it before i left from hannover that morning. i drew something for you. something so embarassing. i would be glad to draw you something else or gave you something else. but there i was, walking into your room and you had it, stuck on the headboard, something that a 16 year old me drew in an italian restaurant and gave you out of boredom.
and yet i still did horrible things. i am pathetic, childish and stupid. and you put up with me. you were there. you heard me. you didn't say i was disgusting. you didn't hate me. you said that you were going to come here. you said you were going to visit me again. you said you didn't want to take responsibility for me. you said it wasn't a good idea. you said you wouldn't have done that if you knew i was going to break.
you did break me when i was sixteen. maybe you were the reason why you needed to put the blinds down each time. and maybe you were the reason why i thought i couldn't sleep alone at night, why i was desperate to find a hand behind my back.
yet you didn't as well and i cried because of that. even after everything you wouldn't have your hand on my back and it was the most devastating from all.
i should have known that i was murdering myself by going there. i knew. i thought that i could. i thought that maybe i could throw everything away at you because somehow you were already responsible for what you have done when i was 16. so maybe just this time i could throw it at you.
because maybe if it were you it would be okay. if it were you i wouldn't get tired of crying. you wouldn't see me cry anyway, you got nothing to worry about.
in the end i was still a child and i wanted to apologize for that.
in the end, i never grew up.
