There aren't any messages from you in my Skype history anymore. It shouldn't matter... It doesn't matter. Except now I'm sitting here wishing I never got a new computer because that was all I had left of you and as much as I'd like to say I don't care......
There is no describing the feeling you gave me. So, when people asked what it was about you that captivated me, I had no answer. Perhaps there was truly nothing captivating about you. Maybe my adoration stemmed from your painful blandness. You were possibly the safest person I had ever met.
I remember wondering why in the world you mattered to me. You're intelligent, and that could have been my excuse, but I don’t think it was. I think I loved the fact that for months upon months, you refused to speak. And when you finally did speak, and I got to know you, I fell in love with your utter awkwardness; the sheer absence of anything even resembling "bland". You were so insane and beautiful and smart and gawky and fascinating. I had never met anyone like you. And I was terribly afraid...
I am terribly afraid.
I want to write about online chess games and fake spaghetti proposals and private conversations on public hotel computers. I want to write about the fact that you were the one person that made me think you actually cared.... But I know how much you hate people knowing things about you. And explaining anything that happened with you feels like a great betrayal.
I keep telling myself that maybe we just met at the wrong time, or gave up too soon. That maybe we'll meet again in the future and things will be different. We could stay in each others lives this time. You could not move to Germany. Or you could and so could I. Or we could just write, or call, or email. I think I would be satisfied with that. I think I would be okay with emailing my friend from Germany and hearing about how he met the perfect girl who loved his ridiculous proposal and who was way smarter than him (maybe) and who was beautiful enough to inspire the poetry that you hate but that fills a part of me that used to be empty every time I read it..... I'd be happy for you.
But please come back.
