[Love letter] I love writing to you, I'm intoxicated and I love you

365 texts love

Goal of the day: 213 words. Written: 825.

I feel so sleepy. I just almost fell asleep laying on the bed for a moment!

Meeting 16 amazing people today at Junk Food Caffe (a vegetarian cafe-bar-art-gallery you'd probably like) was super fun. But still the eyes are watering and the thoughts are falling out of the head.

…At the same time, I want to write today's words. I want to write. I've been dreaming about it all day.

Why did I like writing so much? Is it because of you?

Well, hey, there's no difference. At this moment I want to write. And that's what I do. I hope you still enjoy reading. And you do that.

And if not, at least thank you for inspiring me.

I feel weird writing this. I feel like I'm madly in love and in love like a drunkard. But maybe that's how that crazy desire to fall and dream affects me.

Did you know that lack of sleep can quickly affect you like a glass or two of beer? Thought jumping, crazy openness and disorientation are all effects of this.

But pala. I lost my mind.

Ah, ah.
I feel like I'm melting.
Too fast.

Too soon, Daniel.

Not healthy.

Tell me, will my dreams come true?

Will all that time before Christmas kill them?

Every day I move a day closer. But what?

In my ears… Well, okay, in my headphones, the Hungry Ghosts song “I Don't Think About You Anymore But, I Don't Think About You Anyway"... I don't understand what the name means, because I'm so sleepy. But I like what I hear. I like.

I started writing what I wrote to you as a simple message. Now I see it has expanded into something more. What is a letter? A package of thoughts? A psycho-mail-parcel, as science fiction writers would call it?

I started writing this as a message. And I finished with a stream of thoughts.

I would not edit.
I wouldn't fix it.

Unperfumed, hiding the foul smell of the streets of 16th century Paris.

…Have you read The White Shroud? Or been in a performance? I saw that play two years ago.

Well, okay, I'm lying - I've seen it four times.

And I gave a standing ovation at the end of all of them.

"Through suffering to the stars, Garshva, through suffering to the stars!"
"A falcon flew through a green grove, beat its wings against a dry fir"...

I don't know who played the role of Antanas Garšva. However, I liked his acting. I loved the scenery. And the story itself. I liked the music. And the smells of the newly renovated great hall - it was the first performance in the new hall. And three more.

I remember the first time I saw the play I was in tears. Which is not normal for me.

Second, I was not myself.

The third time - I repeated the phrases of the performance.

And on the fourth, I vowed never to go to the play again, because it hit me so hard right in the heart.


But you probably aren't interested in hearing about my experience in the play, are you? After all, you live in plays and theater. What's new for you, isn't it?


You know, this is totally off topic, but I love talking to you.

…And enjoying every moment while doing it.

Sometimes I think - is it good or bad that I kissed you then on the balcony of the seventh (or ninth?) floor? Is it good or bad that I write you these messages and I don't want to forget you until December? Good or bad?

*Throws out thoughts*

But then I remember your words and your call not to think. Your soft voice. And a sure assurance that it will get better.

And then I don't think.
And then I enjoy it.

Every day of communication with you is new and interesting for me. And oh my god I love it.

"Latvia - best enjoyed slowly", proclaims the motto of Latvian tourism promotion.

And I adapt it to communicate with you.

I like that I don't love you yet.
I love that you don't love me yet either.

I love that I have a crush on you.
I like it when you say that you are too.

I like to write. And be inspired. Having someone to write to. Who would read. And would answer.

I like to dream.
I like to think.
I like to create.
I like to give gifts.

I like to communicate. Every day. Bit.
Little by little every day, open a new part of your being.

It's like a game of opening puzzle pieces and looking for similarities.

I like.

And, god, even if we realize that it's better for us not to communicate.
If I understand it first. Or you.

Even then, I guess I'll be happy.

Because you know - the best trip is when you travel and enjoy the moment. Not like when you travel for some tangible goal - you take three hundred photos of him... And then, like in the movie about Summer Days, you forget at the end.

This journey I'm on.
Which I hope includes you.

This trip is amazing for me.
And I hope she is like that for you too.

No, I'm not asking you to say that she is the same for you. If not, let it be. But just to imagine that you are as good as I am... More pleasant than pleasant. More pleasant than the thought that I will soon jump into bed and sleep in soft bedding.

Er, I was probably right about sleep deprivation acting like alcohol. Because now I feel drunk. Insanely open. And loving.

And god, if my openness is going to kill me…
Let it be.
At least it's fun to be like that.

I feel like it's getting hard to think. That I have already said more than necessary in some places. In places less than necessary. I feel that you will not understand me in places. And in some places you will understand in such a way that even your heart will ache. We don't know which of us.

I feel tired. And I feel happy.

Because I wanted to write. I wanted to write to you.
I wanted to talk to you. And know that you are listening.

And today I achieved it.

Now all that was left was to cover it with cobblestone.
And fall asleep.

I know you're already asleep, Si.

So sweet dreams.

Sleep warm.


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