Rethink.

Dear N.,



I thought I saw you on the street the other night, in a pink dress with small white dots. That face was unmis­tak­ably yours; the only thing that bugs me is the hair, because I always think of yours as straight and dark.



Still, it was only a glance, and we passed and did not meet. I passed quickly and you did too. We were strangers once, and are strangers again.



My heart did skip a beat when I thought I saw you, but it always does that when I think I see someone.



I want to get excited.



What both­ers me is the other peo­ple we were with. You with a friend I don’t know, I with a friend you most cer­tainly know. I owe him a lot, and not just in terms of cash. He is extremely friendly, and he crosses the line from giv­ing to self­ish, the few times he makes mis­takes, only accidentally.



You think oth­er­wise, and I can’t counter your expe­ri­ence. And I’m scared about that, and not because I was hang­ing with him. I’m happy to have the friends I have.



I’m scared because I’ve just lost touch with you. Entirely. And I feel pre­dictable and some­what trapped. Again, I want my other friends around for sure, but I used to count you one of them.



I feel like you know me entirely, and I don’t know any­thing about you. And I don’t care about the power that involves: what I care about is that I feel less lov­ing because of that, like you were more inde­pen­dent and thus more lov­ing and I was just some­one needy who was around.



I feel like I am the lim­its of my world, and if I were more open-minded and less tyran­ni­cal I would have accepted you for who you were and have been happy, not wistful.



The great­est curse and bless­ing are the same thing — mem­ory. I’m so, so sorry for try­ing to give you ones with me, and I’m happy you’ve for­got­ten them. Who­ever you are, you’re your own per­son. I’m with good peo­ple whom I can­not pay back, not in the least. And the thing is, I wanted mem­o­ries with you, I prob­a­bly still want mem­o­ries with you, and I’m hav­ing hell appre­ci­at­ing the mem­o­ries I do have, with peo­ple who care very much for me.



AK

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