for a long time I wasn’t sure I wanted to post it. but I guess I am secretly hoping he might read this. what a coward I am. also, I have no idea what I am trying to say with the title except that I was just watching some youtube videos featuring the lord of the rings. the letter itself was written some time in september? october? something like that.

dear baby boy,

I call you baby boy because you call me baby prada. it’s easy like that. but that’s not how I wanted to start this letter even though it seems to be the best possible way because the things I am about to tell you (without actually telling you) could use a little lightening up. if that makes any sense. please bear with me as I type out the words; sometimes carefully structured, sometimes entirely written without thinking. I am sorry I am so complicated and hard to love. if you love me. because honestly I don’t know. at times I feel I don’t belong to your world. or maybe you don’t belong to mine. or it’s bullshit. anyway. I am sorry for doubting you. I am sorry if I am hurting you in any way because truly do not mean to. I wish I spoke french fluently. I think if I did I would know more about you, I would understand you better. because sometimes I don’t know what your expectations are. I want to stop debating with you. I say debate because you don’t like the word fight and neither do I. you keep saying, but you like this. no, I don’t. I really don’t. I cannot even tell you how much I hate it when we get into one of our discussions and never stop. also, sorry, I am yelling sometimes. it’s just how I am. my temperament is impossible. I speak my mind. I speak what’s on my heart. I don’t have time to process it and sugar coat it. so I yell sometimes. or say mean things. or both. or worse. I need to learn how to control it. I am going to work on that, I promise.

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weheartit

dear ____,

a few days ago I walked past the restaurant in capocesto we dined at many years ago in a company of friends under the summer sky. maybe there were many stars up there that night but I don’t remember. I don’t even remember what we ordered or what we drank. what I do remember is that we sat side by side, our elbows touching and we were chatting constantly. asking endless questions, babbling. our friend begged us to shut the fuck up. he would buy us anything we wanted if we managed to keep quiet for a whole hour. we were young, we were kids. our eyes widened at the idea of having anything we wanted. so we kept quiet for the entire time; ignoring everyone else’s questions and provocations for once. we won that bet that summer. and then many others. but that was the first time I thought we make such a nice team. I was nine, ten maybe. you, three years older.

in a way we make that same team today. but things are different. even though we are still friends; the careless feeling of being a child is long gone. I saw you this summer for the first time in two years. as individuals we haven’t changed that much. four years times two. two years ago we promised that would never happen again but life keeps taking us each on a separate path. I guess that’s fine. but that summer, I think of it the most. of all our memories the summer we spent sailing the adriatic sea is my favorite. my favorite summer of them all.

currently I am sitting on the top terrace in my house; looking at the dark bay. and I keep thinking in some other universe you could have been here with me. the truth is, I am okay with the way things are. I just hope we will never lose each other the way some friends do. maybe I am an idealist but I think our differences is what makes us strong. morcheeba is keeping me company tonight. and there is nothing else I wish for.

until next time.

signed oscar wilde.

dear ____,

today I was finally able to speak to you and let you know that I will be coming home soon. although I couldn’t see your expression, I could certainly imagine it. I am looking forward to returning home. oh my god, you have no idea how much. it’s been too long. it’s been too long again. we seem to see each other every two years. I remember last time as we were sitting in that garden, drinking, we promised each other not to let two years pass again. I was so sure it wouldn’t happen. but life had different plans and for a while I even forgot about you entirely (well, not entirely). I’m sorry about that period of time. we should have spoken more often. there was a lot I wanted to tell you back then but by the time I mustered up the courage the words had become insignificant and eventually I forgot them, too.

listening to the song that bears my name, the one you discovered for me. it always takes me back to the top of the hill above our old house five years ago. lying down on the dry grass, letting the soak in my skin, feeling your elbow against mine, listening to the song for the first time. and then those two days we spent together. I could never forget.

I am looking forward to seeing you face again. it’s been so long. I wonder whether you have changed. but one thing I know for sure. that we are still the same. it brings me enormous comfort in these strange times. maybe I will be able to tell you about some of it. I am sure you’ve become a more mature listener. even though I am not sure what I mean by this. you’ve always be there for me, especially when I didn’t realize it. but that’s how it was. I will be seeing you sooner than I would have believed.

I need to write these letters more often. I promise.

signed oscar wilde.

dear …..,

it’s kind of surprising, right? you’d think I would use one of the many nicknames I have reserved for you in my mind over the last few years. but we didn’t know each other then and now all those nicknames I had for you have lost their meaning. which is good in a way. so I’m just going to leave it blank, it feels better. not so forced; as if I am giving myself more space to write everything I have been meaning to write. of course, I keep forgetting you have already read a small part of my writings without me knowing, which honestly makes me nervous. I am not as good with numbers as you are, otherwise I would have figured out the probability of you finding my writings a long time ago. it sorts of feels as if you’re in my head, even though I haven’t really told you how I feel about you. yet. isn’t it strange that I can waste a whole paragraph on something others would probably be able to say in two sentences?

don’t get me wrong. I despise shakespeare. so far I have managed to read only two of his plays until the end; hamlet because I had to and othello because I actually liked that play. I have watched all the film adaptations and versions of each and that was only to satisfy the insanity inside my mind that comes with the personality of a cinephile that I am. (is it just me or was that sentence really long?) but I saw the photograph above and I thought, this would fit. but I am not entirely sure to what. I have been trying to write and put my thoughts down but every single time I end up getting distracted after half an hour; forgetting the words in the process, forgetting everything. for a second, it feels like a relief but it all comes back too soon and too suddenly.

but it sounds wrong. the quote I mean. I went and looked it up. shakespeare did not write, or say it. the real writer’s name is arrigo boito; he’s an italian and lived between 1894 and 1918. and this particular sentence comes from his libretto of an opera titled otello, which is where the confusion occurs. however, otello is based on the original play othello by shakespeare. aren’t you glad that you know all this now? yeah, I thought so. it’s interesting, though. I really wish I could get to my point but I’ve just started writing after many weeks and my fingers are moving on their own, and it’s beautiful and amazing. I almost feel as if I am flying. writing without stopping or thinking gives me an indescribable sense of being high. the crash will come later, I’m sure.

the weather is affecting me in a very negative way. it’s constantly white and grey, cold, depressing. just the way you like it. all the headaches, the unwillingness to stay awake and the general hatred towards everything and everyone triggered by the weather and nothing else. twenty four seven, it doesn’t go away. except when I was cuddled up on your couch, with your arms around me. it felt as if a part of everything negative inside me eased up a little bit. I allowed myself to feel content with who I am. you managed to bring it out in me. how or why; I don’t know. the last few months have been really hard on me. a lot of it is personal; trivial stupid shit you wouldn’t be even remotely interested in. a lot of it had something to do with the painful transition period into the semi-adulthood combined with the post-high school euphoria. that was december. which was still okay because everything seemed a little bit more interesting than it actually was. sort of like some weird form of delirium. another term for delirium is dementia.

you met me at a very strange period of my life. I have no idea where I am going or who I am. nothing and everything makes sense at the moment. that kind of thing. I wonder whether you have ever experienced one of these stages, you probably have but reason why I am wondering is because everything seems to get to you in a different way. most people wouldn’t think about it but to me it makes such a difference. the way you process the world and things around yourself; the way you form your sentences; the way you listen and respond. you actually listened to the things I said.

I am not sure what’s happening. I feel this constant urge to write. last night I retired to bed at almost two in the morning, having written thousands of words in a few hours. and this morning I had trouble waking up but I had a cup of coffee; it wasn’t even eight am yet and I was already writing, half asleep. I am trying to keep busy and I am busy. but still the time passes by so slowly for me now. no one to look forward to. but one can get used to anything. this thing is too long, proving that not only I can waste one paragraph but also six. and there’ll be more. I have already written another half a dozen other letters. and that story about those two people at the airport inspired by the shadows on your wall at two am? I started that, too.

- the one with an inner voice within that won’t keep still

dear ____,

I finally emailed you. I don’t think I’ve ever sent you an email like the other night. when I received your reply I was walking with my best friend on the street, I just started jumping and laughing and hugging her. people were looking at me. I was surprised that you replied to it in the first place but even more I was surprised at how open your email was. it made me realize there’s a reason we are friends for as long as we are. most people don’t make it through the first few months. I’m enjoying myself, really. I’m having the best time of my life and the fact that now I’ve stopped feeling strange about writing you an email, the fact that I know I am able to share all of this with you, makes me feel alive. happy. I don’t know if it makes sense.

we went to the beach yesterday, had another bowl of vietnamese soup together, walked around, caught the bus to the other side of the island and spent three or four hours just lying on the beach, dozing off, laughing and washing our feet in the cold waves of november ocean. friendships are more important than relationships. and I like that. after we got back to the city, we sat on the roof, it was cold the wind was blowing hard but we didn’t mind. both sides are covered in seasonal greetings, every single building in hong kong lights up with merry christmas wishes every single night. I am not a big fan, but it’s pretty enough to look at it.

I am not sure what’s the point of this letter. I guess I am happy and wanted you to know. but now you actually do know. I like the difference.

signed oscar wilde.