Goal of the day: 139 words. Written: 529.
It's strange that in retrospect we can see so many mistakes made, but we can't feel them in this moment of love. In this letter I recount my thoughts when I loved, but hid it from myself.
(Good thing I'm learning now to put and don't be afraid of such mistakes.)
A month after meeting. August 5, 2013.
Hello Mileta,
I'm writing to you so I don't forget to tell you. Or, if I forget, I would convey it by this letter.
After returning from Varėna, I realized that I want to communicate with you. Not to communicate, not to be friends and not to share kisses, but to communicate.
Let me explain.
Did you know I liked it when I laid my head on your lap and told you how I wanted to travel but I didn't know where? I enjoyed telling it and seeing you listen! I like to dream, fantasize, create. Talk and think. Read and then tell.
It's just weird that I don't get enough opportunities to do that when I'm with you.
Remember, I said I was with you am I forgetting my thoughts? I used to think it was nice. But… Really?
You like to interact with people, I can see that. And sometimes I'm really interested to hear your stories about other people and what they did when they saw you. The problem is that I'm even more interested in your personal thoughts.
I'm more interested in what's brewing in your head. Your dreams and hopes. Poetry of thoughts. Creation.
Looking at your happy friends in Cyprus, the thought struck me: "We are all the same in pleasure and pain. And only in creativity and work is the uniqueness of a person revealed." I'm more interested in what you dream and think than what others have thought and done.
The retelling of events to me is just background to your thoughts. Although I remember the background, I often don't care about it at all. At all. (Well, okay, I'm lying, sometimes I care, but I'll forget that at this point).
It is difficult for me to respond to bare narratives. I can't think of anything to say that would be appropriate or funny. Communication disappears.
And I don't like it. When I'm with you, I want to communicate.
* * *
But this is only the first part of the letter.
I've never really been much of a sociable person. I'm relatively introverted, usually only hanging out with a few close friends. And with everyone else - well, only out of necessity, only for fun and only sometimes.
Do you remember the few times I told you something that was on my mind and then I forgot what it was in an instant?
I speak so that the thoughts will fly out of my head, reach others and then settle imperceptibly in the memory. Just like the force of a sea wave, it works for just a moment, and after the rebound, it disappears.
I've probably already mentioned that I like to dream, fantasize and weave my thoughts into something incredible, right? I even called myself a poet once. Through a short time.
Thinking about supernovas while lying in bed with you is something to me... Poetic, exciting and beautiful. Describing you, your beauty and my passion for living. I'm not talking about them to teach you like a schoolboy. I speak and weave them like a poet.
I'm sorry that those science-related thoughts will discourage you. But I weave beauty out of what I have. Forgive me for not holding back.
I want to communicate with you. I don't like it when you lie quietly in bed without even smiling or when you ask me what I'm thinking about i can't nothing to answer
I don't like having to sort through the thoughts I'm expressing to you. Then I feel incomplete, like I'm forgetting a part of me. After all, I like to be whole.
I want to communicate with you. I want to find topics that you would be interested in listening to, asking and talking about. I don't know how to find them. Maybe I'll end up starting a new collection: "652 Questions I Want to Ask Mileta"?
confused,
Daniel