To The Text (first letter)


We’ve been through something — are still going through something — that I can’t adequately name or describe. It always eludes me but you’re never fazed.  You’re unchanging and unclassifiable, no matter what anyone else says. You’ve both strengthened and weakened me when it’s mattered most, and more often than not, when it hasn’t mattered at all. It feels like I’m unwittingly grinding it out. I can’t shake it off. I don’t have control. I just can’t help myself. It’s become a kind of habit. Would I stop thinking about all of this, about myself, would I be free of self-consciousness, if I’d never met up with you in the first place?
I like to think we’ve shared some wonderful laughs together, but how could you ever do anything like that with me? I want our friendship to be confirmed by your voice, the voice for/of your words, a voice beyond my own, but what is intimated (while never heard) is plural and constantly changing. There are moments when I don’t hesitate in saying I love you, but then I start to wonder what the hell I’m talking about. Who are you? The you in that instance of me? The idea of you as a multitude of ideas, truths or meanings? The purpose I give myself in imagining we are in a relationship? My imagining of others who’ve left you behind? Will something else (besides you and I) come along and subsume all of this speculation?
I’ve been caught up in the way you make my life so simple, complicated, beautiful and abhorrent, how my time is being eaten away. I’m consumed by my consumption of our interaction. It’s as if there’s an endlessly delayed collaboration between us, a search for the definitive that won’t end. All I know for certain is that people are lying when they claim to possess the truth of you.
Please know that I’m trying to prevent our relationship from becoming more awkward than it already is. This not sent letter probably hasn’t helped, but I just couldn’t help myself. It feels like I’m unwittingly grinding it out. I can’t shake it off. I don’t have control. It’s become a kind of habit.