I don’t remember how it came to be so many late nights and twilight hours spent talking to you, from the other side of the world, I don’t remember who was the first to foolishly invoke the word love when maybe it would have been best it had just been adolescent exploration, undressing, a sexual fantasy to aid our minds into guiding our hands, before finding another.
Maybe it would have been best you’d never mentioned Cloud Atlas, and, I, having having not met another soul who has read it, much less another who considered it their favorite book, became all the more infatuated with you, with your small collection of The Expanse comic books, with your soft voice and soft guitar strumming and love of science fiction and poetry. Shamefully, I’ve never been much for poetry, though since the last we spoke truly I’ve come to know more playful banter with words. And even more of the literature that since and long before you held my interest, science fiction, history, and philosophy. I’d hoped to share some, that the opportunity would arise, no longer American poets but men of my own native lands. Even through a screen, when you’d look at me it felt as if no one had looked at me, into me, so deeply and intimately before without projecting something else over me entirely more suited to what they’d like to see in me. I wonder how it could have been, had I gone to highschool with you in Midwestern smalltown America, or I with you, in Southern Australia, if you would have been at all interested in the silent yet abrasive chubby brute, opting to lift weights with the other misfits, physically altered, or even the fitness freaks choosing the weight room as an alternative to socializing in P.E. who smiled at the prospect of detention as a possibility to spend a room in silence alone with a book, always procrastinating reading that which a teacher would prefer I’d read. Who’d play American football not for any love of the sport, but for love that there, he could strike when everywhere else he had to hold his fist steady.
When you’d mentioned, despite your own gaming habit you weren’t all that great at some genres I enjoy and preferred to watch, and I’d day dream of having someone to chuckle with at all the oddly placed skeletons and bits of world building found in the first two entries of the Fallout reboot. And when you inspired me to reconsider my own worth, nonchalantly mentioning the word socialist to explain your views but once, and whether or not it ever persisted, your identification with it coming to light my own desire to struggle for my rights and value, at a time when, following my family’s deportation, I had left home to chase menial jobs at a coastal town. I knew the value of it even then from my American education, I knew the foolishness or perhaps greed of people who equaled it to communism or Marxism. I knew the original motto of the United States, was a lot cooler and deeper than the hollow words, ‘In God We Trust,’ hollower still to us atheists. E Pluribus Enum, From Many One.
I knew, if I’d accepted and began selling opiates to tourists for a lot more money than I was making at that bar, I wouldn’t be in places, around people, where we could talk of many things so calmly without obnoxious music and drug addicts, or pushers. So I said no, and the first time I was picked up and released by the police for an infraction not even of my own doing, but of a coworkers, I simply packed up and returned to my parents home to seek higher education instead.
I know, we didn’t really know each other that well some these past couple years. We’d both found other loves, my own ventures did not persist, yours did so fruitfully and took you abroad, still you claimed we could meet and not a problem would be had. And still, you mentioned, that finally we go to Spain, shortly before my own breakdown, desperately seeking some comfort from you as you struggled with your own issues, but perhaps I understand part of your reaction now, though I still feel we’d both fallen to caricatures and misinterpretations of each other given how we hadn’t truly talked in years, that word which inspired us and should inspire all having been turned taboo, with threats of even including it into the words to watch for when identifying terror groups, just as in my own country some interests seek to extend that war on terror, in-truth the war to create terror ever more terror from now till the end, to our own drug-related conflicts that I, in my foolishness, would not have avoided were it not for you.
I’m sorry you felt that upon me saying I truly did only love a memory of you, and loved you not for you anymore, but for who I am now and how I love myself when once taking my life or selling drugs responsible for so much pain and horror seemed both appealing options you kept me from considering, and that love for myself had become by extension love for you. I’m sorry you felt that by me saying that, I didn’t truly love you anymore. I’m sorry I put my issues, in my panicked mental state, over yours and your own mental health you’d always made clear could come to be delicate. I still love you, I always will, even if I come to love others as we both have already. And I understand, you’ve a career near a renowned public institute to care for, a family. But I’ve none of that save for a dog, the other young woman I was coming to love, I renounce, for she need not feel so much hate, she has no way of knowing how to deal with it constructively. I’ve none save for love of my parents and love from a dog, and so, I must fight, with word, and nonviolent acts, whenever possible, only fallen to arms when I have first been struck with a violent act, even if declining to ever be on the offensive means I lose my life before ever having the opportunity to defend myself. I still despise violence, and hate. To hate, hate, and to lose love for hate of hate, to be incapable of being too brazen in one’s anger as those who most hate would love one to do so, so that one can be labeled a violent criminal or terror suspect. Such is now.
Farewell, may your struggle not be so lonely and may you still enjoy all you’ve come to earn for you of all people, deserve it so very much. I will always love you, perhaps shamefully, more-so since we never came to share the years together that inevitably lead lovers to find faults in each other, it will always be that pure adolescent love shared despite never coming to fruition, so painfully preserved as I recognize, I said no to a beautiful doctor proposing in my arms, I left the bed of a beautiful woman the other night, because the woman I felt I could have come to enjoy spending every evening with, reading books opposite a living room, playing games, watching whatever, getting around to children, eventually, talking, talking, talking, just like we once would through screens, has already come and left with another, and I must respect that, that I allowed myself to be distracted and did not recognize your impact sooner. That I did not say some of this and more sooner, more I’d never write publicly, and now you may never read anything typed nor written by me nor hear me speak, ever again, my own fault truly despite some faults of yours that however true I feel them to be, I’d never tear at as I recognize what a small-minded angry tyrant I was declining into. And your sudden, surprise and horror and confrontation of such, the strike I needed to see again reflected in your clear water pools, now words and voice bereft of the sight of you, what I was, and this time, the reflection was not quite so lovely as before. Why had I failed to make that final connection before verbally assaulting you so, that those positive global citizen movements had in-truth been turned yet another victim and unwitting tool just as the hippy movement was, appropriated by the War for None Other Cause Than Profit Into The Pockets Of The Few, the latest Cold War fought through the proxy War on Terror and War on Drugs in regions spanning far beyond just Vietnam, Korea, Afghanistan, or Angola.