listen, I’m getting too old for a lot of things. but I’m not too old for words. for a baggy pair of jeans and my boyfriend’s t-shirts. I’m not too old for wine in a paper cup and a marlboro every once in a while. I’m not too old for peter pan and I’m not too old to quote holden caulfield. I’m not too old to lay in my all day trying to get this story out of my skin, trying to burn it through the paper and read books under my covers with a flashlight, not too old to stare at the glow in the dark stars stuck to my ceiling at night. I’m not too old to ride around with the windows down and simon and garfunkel turned up, because that’s the way simon and garfunkel should be played. I’m not too old to jump on my bed and refuse to wash my hair. I’m not too old to run around bare foot with a smile stuck my face even when times are hard. and I’m not too old to get out of here. next spring I’m taking off. to hear summer turn into fall, to listen as the leaves in a park somewhere whisper stories in my ear, to fall asleep in the rose gardens, wake up when winter laughs under my sheets, to write letters back home on paper napkins, make lightwaves feel like experience, to make mistakes, to write poetry in the backest seat of a bus, to exchange thousands of words with people I’ve never met, to do things I have never done on my own before, to fail miserably time over time, to fuck up and never ever ever ever give up.

dear ____,

this is the time of the year when I miss you the most. it’s the christmas season and everything that comes along with it. I know how much you care about your christmas being spent at home. I remember last year when I was writing a similar letter to this one, the only thing I really wished was to be at home with you. sometimes even I miss snow, vast space and freedom, which these two things combined, gave me. it feels like a terribly long time ago that I was last at your home. it’s been more than two hundred days. does that feel like a lot to you? I don’t know. I have become used to this. one can get used to anything. didn’t we say so? but did we mean it?

if you asked me I am not sure what I would say about these last few weeks. I am constantly lying to other people when I say I am trying to let go. because that’s the last thing I am doing. I’ve learned how not to get hurt and still keep my feelings to be mine without other people accusing me of not being devoted enough. I am not sure it makes sense now but one day you will be grateful. I know you will. summer changed some things for me. but back to what I wanted to write in the first place. I am trying to replace the inner loneliness. sometimes it works because recently I have discovered a great friend in someone I didn’t even look at before. it’s strange how sometimes circumstances lead us to meeting people whom we may have thought we would have nothing in common with. I can’t remember what I thought of you when I saw you for the first time. in fact, I can’t remember the first encounter at all. memory is misleading. I am holding onto memories. I write them down, keep them tucked away in my bookshelf. you can laugh but you will be glad I kept them. I am the historian of our relationship. and it is the most important job in my life.

days pass by, months pass by. it’s december. this year has gone too fast. too fast for my own comprehension. against everything. but then when I think how much has happened I am convinced it’s been at least fifty years. I am already thinking about the yearly bilantaine and I am trying to figure out how and where to place you this year. because you weren’t as absent. you were right in the middle of it all and you still are. but then I have to remind myself this is not the end of it. yesterday as I walked around the busy neighborhood at midnight I was reminded of the infinite. I remembered our childhood dreams, ideas and hopes. walking is how we spend our time, which why I walk every day whenever I can and wherever I am taken by old memories. it’s that simple. you influence me, you keep me going, you appear in my dreams when I least expect you to. you are in control of the uncontrollable.

I wonder when we are going to see each other again. long time ago I stopped trying to imagine the moment, because my imagination always lets me down when the future arrives. most of this year’s months have been good to me. usually because I had the motivation and energy to keep going even when I was at my lowest point, crawling on my knees in the early hours, trying to find my way back. one day the future will be ours, we’ll be building our lives and our childhoods will always remain the favorite time of the past. you have no idea what future brings, and I can’t wait to show you.

signed oscar wilde.

I’m training to be an anaesthetist
the checkout girl said
I want to work with people
but not have to talk to them

Matthew Haigh

*

december began with lots of work. it began with two films; the parent trap and whatever works. the first one is an old time favorite, the only film that has ever made me cry (seriously). I was ten years younger than what I am right now and watching it yesterday just reminded me of all those feelings I had back then. or maybe I am just exaggerating. who knows. and the second made me laugh think sympathize. but most importantly I was able to find myself in the misanthropic character that boris is. (and doctor house of course!) I am kind of split between being afraid of becoming one in the future and the fact that I may already be one of the kind. but I like to think, even though I hate most of the people most of the time, I still find them interesting enough to keep me around. I mean, they had to invent automatic flushing systems in public bathrooms. that says something. the year is about to wrap itself up and say goodbye and I feel like there’s still too much left to be done in the next few weeks and I am not going to make it. or maybe I am just not ready yet. on top of it all, the upcoming christmas season depresses me. would it please go away.

and unplugged in new york has been on the entire evening. let’s pretend it doesn’t mean anything.

just as last year.