Form me to you.

dearly,

I am sending this letter to finally write back to you.

I am sorry. I know it took me a while. But you know how life is full of ups and downs.

For so long, I did not understand life the way I do now. I guess I was just a child. Immature.

Now that I have left my little place of comfort, I can finally say:

a lot has changed.

I am not as uptight as I used to be. I am more carefree now. Though I still do not know whether that is a good thing or a bad thing.

Personally, I like this version of me better. I feel lighter. As if some enormous weight has finally slipped from my shoulders.

Though sometimes I wish I had not suffered so much just to become this version of myself.

But never mind.

It is all good now. I have no complaints.

My life here is better.

Anyway,

tell me how is everything with you?

How is life? Are you still trying to become an astronaut? Are you happy? Are you fulfilled?

Me?

I have been fine. Though I still have trouble sleeping at night.

And, well… talking to people. Only a little. Nothing serious.

They are kind here. Wise. Understanding. They tell me I simply struggle with socializing and that it will pass with time.

Dearly, did I ever tell you I started enjoying Shakespeare? His tragedies, mostly. I only wish more people wanted to talk about them. Perhaps then I would not feel so alone in my thoughts.

I know if you were here, we could speak for hours. Just like we did the first time.

The only conversation that ever truly meant something to me.

I am sure for you it was ordinary. Just another conversation.

But for me,

it was the whole world.

For the first time, I felt like myself. Like I belonged somewhere. Like I was safe. A place where nobody could hurt me, break my heart, or mistake my kindness for weakness. A place where I was not reduced into something to be wanted and thrown away.

I have never felt like that before. Even now, I keep asking myself: when was the last time I ever felt that safe?

(Except for that time with you, of course.)

Yes, dear,

you can laugh at me. I know you did.

Maybe you called me crazy. Maybe you said I needed a therapist. You even said it to my face once, remember?

Maybe you hated me.

To be honest, I think you did.

Never mind.

I do not mind anymore.

Do you remember that strange conversation we had? The one about colours? How every person could be represented by one?

You said you could not think of a colour that represented you. And I said I could be red.

You looked so surprised.

You never explained why.

Did you not like red? Or me? Or both?

Perhaps you thought I was no colour at all. Like you.

But I turned out to be red.

Oh.

I understand now.

It is a sin to be a colour. That is why we live in a colourless world.

People fear colourful minds. They fear what cannot be controlled. What cannot be placed neatly inside categories.

I was young then. I did not understand.

I am sorry.

At least I am glad you never told anyone.

Though… did you?

No. I do not think so.

To be honest, I am relieved you told the truth about me. That I am lonely. That I struggle with people.

They drove me mad sometimes. Shallow. Predictable. I could never stand them.

Maybe they suited you better. Maybe that is why you chose someone else.

Anyway,

again, I apologize if things between us ended this way. I did not understand myself back then. I was too much. Too difficult. Too exhausting to love.

Believe me when I say: I am sorry. I never meant any harm.

Perhaps now you think: it is not my fault you turned out like this.

You are right, dearly. You always are.

Can you forgive me? What could I possibly do for you to forgive me?

I remember our last argument.

You said you loved babies. And I said:

“I remember years ago you said you didn’t.”

You looked offended. You said:

I never said that. I do not remember talking to you.

And suddenly that conversation, that beautiful conversation that meant everything to me, meant nothing to you.

So tell me: which one of us is wrong?

Maybe I imagined it all. Maybe you were never really there.

But I remember touching you.

I swear you were real. And I swear I was real too.

So maybe I misunderstood. Maybe everybody else was right.

Funny, though. They always say I am smart.

So which one is the lie?

Oh I forgot to ask about you again.

How is life? How is the wife? Do you have children now?

Though I wonder how that works if you are still trying to become an astronaut. When was the last time you even touched the ground?

Me?

Oh, I am always here on earth.

Sometimes I still listen to that song you used to love. I loved it too.

What was it called again? S.K?

Do you still listen to music? or favourite music?

Sometimes, dearly,

I still wonder whether you ever understood me at all.

Not in the fake way people speak of understanding. Not deeply.

Just simply.

Did you ever look at me and think:

ah, this girl is trying.

Trying so hard to be normal. To be good. To be wanted without feeling ashamed for wanting to be wanted.

You always looked so effortless.

Like someone untouched by the heaviness of things.

Meanwhile, I carried everything as if it were stitched into my skin.

Every word.

Every silence.

Especially yours.

Funny, is it not?

How one person forgets, and another remembers enough for the both of them.

I remember the way you laughed.

Not because it was beautiful, though maybe it was.

But because I kept wondering if, somewhere inside that laughter, there was room for me too.

Maybe there never was.

Maybe I invited myself into a story that had already ended before I knew it had begun.

Still

I kept the memories.

Even the cruel ones.

Especially the cruel ones.

Because at least they proved that, for a moment,

you were real.

And so was I.

Wait.

I just realized something.

You are not in space.

I may not be sure about everything that happened between us, but I am sure of this:

you are not far away. You are not somewhere in the sky.

You are here.

And nobody has seen you for ten years.

Funny, isn’t it? Nobody even talks about you anymore. People forget so easily.

I mean, you always dreamed of leaving this earth.

Funny.

Even now, you still live beneath it.

Sometimes I wonder,

if I open the door to your dungeon, will you forgive me, dearly?

kisses and hugs,

ha ha.