Dear Stranger

I had almost 500 words written for you before I deleted it all again. I am projecting what I think you need or want and don’t allow you any space to be more than what I know.

I am aware that there are many layers to peel away from you, but you never allowed it. Now you seem to be there and ready for a deeper connection and it is me who is stuck in old patterns. It feels as if I should apologise about that.

You deserve better.

If we could stop walking on eggshells around each other and allow each other to see everything there is to see, everything would be easier. We would be free. But I am probably over-analysing.

Often, I say that I am not the romantic kind. I am a bit special in my thinking and in my needs. And yet, here I am thinking about you first thing in the morning and as a last thought before I fall asleep.

In bad moments, my mind tries to convince me that it is obsessive. In good moments, my mind tries to convince me that it is love.

Rationally, I know that it is none of the above.

Sometimes, I forget who you are. I forget that everything between us is make-believe and a fantasy. And I am scared that you don’t like me at all. I am afraid if I try pleasing you too much, you end up hating me. And I desperately need you to like me. Love me. Just a little bit.

A friend of mine told me about a Hindu meditation. During this meditation, you ask yourself if you would mourn the loss of this or that person in your life. If you don’t get sad over the emotion, it is time to let go. If you feel sad thinking about anyone’s loss, they are allowed to stay in your life.

I tried it with you, and I was devastated thinking of a life without you. I almost panicked. I got that same constricting feeling when you left the first time and also, a couple of months ago when I dreamt that you had died.

That dream of you passing away, I remember it, sort of, because I was shaken the entire day. And then in the evening, you got in touch and ever since you haven’t really left again. The distance between us changed.

And every time you’re near, a warm sensation travels through my body. Would it be the same if you weren’t who you are? Would it be the same if you hadn’t kissed my starving teenage mind with your art years before we even met?

Dear Stranger, you have that very special gift to make me feel happy and sad at the same time. You make me confident and doubting at the same time.

And tonight, I don’t know what to think.



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