𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

IT BEGINS AT THE END

August 25, 1991

Dear friend,

I am writing to you because she said you'd listen and understand and didn't try to sleep with that person at that party even though you could have. I know we never talk anymore, because of what I did to you and you to me. I hope it's nice up there. You were the only one who knew him and if there was anyone else this letter would be addressed to them not you, be sure of that. 

Yesterday I saw him. At that train station with the nauseating urine smell and posters still hanging from when the first Star Wars came out. For the past few months I have been imagining how we'd meet again and what I would say. How maybe he would suddenly address his undying love to me anyways, even though he shook his head when I asked him if maybe he liked me back. I was so busy with getting on the right train, that the moment I recognized that hair and window-shattering laugh it was already too late. I could just turn my head to catch a glimpse of the back of his head and I shouted his name which drowned in the sea of people flooding from the arriving train. He did not hear me. I rushed after him, it was an instinct and the most stupid decision of my life. Even more so than the one in that year, where we fought because I did that thing which you warned me not to do. Just in time I could grasp the cotton of his dark green button up, the one that makes him look so mature. It was just like in the movies, where everything around you slows down when the girl and the boy are together. I was in that tunnel all alone. He did turn around, he hugged me, he smiled and he was glad to see me. Somehow that was so much worse, because it reminded me of why I fell in love with him all over again.

I miss his unwavering kindness towards others and the ease with which he talks to people. I miss his crazy stories from when he goes out. I miss going out dancing with him, standing next to him and feeling warmth in a world which leaves me cold. I miss the way he would place his hands on my waist or how he allowed me to use him as a personal crutch when I was drunk. I miss stupid obsessions, that seemed so interesting when he discussed it. I miss seeing him and feeling a part of one complete 'Kugelmensch'.

So, we exchanged pleasantries, the usual 'How are you doing?' 'Oh I'm fine, and you?' 'Yeah same, very busy with work,' and then the casual slide-in of a piece of information you heard about them and brushing it off as if you had picked it up somewhere, not fought to gain it, 'Oh I heard you were moving back...'

Do you know what it feels like to love him while he doesn't love me back? It's tiring, my heart drains and empties like water from a bathtub until it aches so much I want to scratch at my chest hoping to take it out. That one conversation left me with so little energy that I was ready to fall onto my bed. He said so much which gave me hope. He told me I looked so beautiful and more grown-up, because of course I wasn't the child I was when I loved him the first time. He looked different than I had remembered him, his eyes were more grey than green. Still it was more thrilling seeing his grey ones right before me, than imagining the green ones in my head. He asked me if I was going out tonight, he and his friends were going and he wanted me to come with. Had I said yes, who knows what would have happened. But I had already missed my train and had to hurry to catch the next if I didn't want to be stuck in the middle of the large city in the middle of the night. We said our goodbyes, but I could practically taste the pity with which he told me to 'hang in there'.

It made me irrationally mad, as if I would never get over him? Getting rejected by him, though incredibly painful was nothing compared to what I had been going through the past few months.  But I could not stay angry for long when he gave me that tender look with his eyes which made my stomach flutter. I watched him move in the opposite direction, being carried away in the current. And still, even though so much time had passed, I had to purse my lips and turn up my music to keep the pressure in my eyes from spilling.

I don't think I'll ever 'get over' him. My heart might always tingle a little when I hear his voice or when someone mentions his name, but I think I'll manage to live with that. It wouldn't really be love if I was able to completely forget him, right? The story does not have one ending, but multiple.

Well, I hope you know that I am alright now and that I didn't miss my train and did not have to spend the night with some nasty rats on a station bench. I got to the place I needed to go, to the thing I was attending. This will be my last goodbye, because we will not see each other for some time. When I do see you I would fancy that it could be like it used to be. Please don't hate me for what I did and I will not remember what you did. And you know I always forgive but never forget. 

Sincerely yours,

Your sister by choice.

(Ps. you don't have to reply, if you don't want to or if it's burdensome.)