The Words I Never Said // A Collection of Essays

Letter #9 // Stuck between fate and silliness

Dear Friend,

It took me a while, I know. I haven't written in so long. Not because I didn't miss you, not because I didn't have anything to write about. My longing never shrank, not even the tiniest bit, it erupts in the most bizarre shapes, and sometimes it projects to a person in which I then begin seeing you. Not always can I recognize this as another one of those mind deceptions, hence why sometimes I submerge myself into a bath of delusions like a rotting corpse who hasn't seen clean water for centuries. Recently, I got to experience the most intense variant of this type of silliness; in fact, it was so intense even now I can't firmly conclude whether it was a case of silliness, or whether it was actually the real you. So, I better start from the beginning.

Of course, I don't really care how you're going to look. But I'd lie by saying my imagination never joined forces with my irrational intuition and never molded a fairly specific image of you, one I'm not even sure is reasonable. Thus my bewilderment shot higher than the world's tallest skyscrapers when that one person filled my thoughts so abruptly and when my attention so stupidly stuck to the idea of him, who was clueless. How angry I was at myself back then, waving the image of this real person in my imagination, for some reason letting my emotions accept this as The Truth. Unfortunately, my rationality was completely disarmed here, it had no power to stop this. And thus I dove, deeper and deeper with every hour, into my fantasies, each of them fiercely convincing me that it had been you.

I'd say I got hooked on nothing, on the air itself, but, to be frank, my stubborn imagination has the talent to find some hard particles even in the cleanest of air, and then use them to lean on and then leap upwards to the skies. The first hard particle (hey, face, what is that cheeky grimace, huh?) was a lively series of words that came together so naturally, that no one had to force out, and that emerged in a form of unrestricted energy which left the lips and then returned to the ears. This undisturbed energy transaction strangely messed with my prejudices, although at that time I didn't know it yet. Despite that, it undoubtedly was the first clue to the upcoming unrelenting magnetization, which began branching out as this vast, multilayered plant, piercing through all my internal organs, but especially the brain. After that, this "something" tore me, dragged me, and pulled me, all toward this person I barely knew.

Then there were details. Crosses on backs, phrases that were possibly born in my head, or directed at me, or that reached my ears thanks to sheer coincidence — exact circumstances remain unclear. My eyes gained total free will, separated from the body, and spun around in whichever direction they wished. Their tactics were anxious: now look, now don't, now quickly glance, now don't you dare turn there! Psychotic interpretations of movements, as if a small head-turn from afar could guarantee one looked a particular way. Later there were strange, embarrassing hopes that were half-conscious with the other half stuck far in the depths of the subconscious. And then, THEN there were microscopic encounters, brief intertwinements of auras, breaths full of the same air, all of which provided such rich material for my imagination that already ran on longing. My mind was possessed by silliness, which even now tries breaking into my life like a virus just through me trying to recall it; so what if now I'm shielded with careful rationality?!

And then there were the rampages of my imagination at night. Scenarios, stories, and fantasies that completely surpassed this universe, or resembled an alternate variant of it at best. A rollicking heart and a powerless, thoroughly defeated mind that sometimes would mutter something about being infatuated with ideas and the bitterness of reality. The image of sitting on a footbridge; so many warm gazes and first times. Poor sleep for the wrong reasons. Mentally giggling and feeling like the silliest person in the whole world.

Finally, there were signs sent from reality. There were details that encouraged the mind to rise from its deathbed and ominously point its index finger, throwing the imagination off its tracks. Avoiding, turning away, and running, all of which were simultaneously the negation of what my imagination had created and the clear support for the critique my mind gave to my heart for being self-conceited. In short, it was a no-win situation. There were also conversation snippets, differences and unconformities, and the gradual collapse of an idea. A calm acceptance of how things are. Moving forward. Mind's victory. Imagination's defeat.

And yet the defeated has something to say as well. For a short moment right now, I'll let my imagination take the wheel. It shall now speak the things she'd been whispering to me back then. My mind shall become an observer for a bit. Let's listen to our main culprit — my dear imagination that runs on longing.

"Everything started with that one letter, the exact one I saw in tarot readings. I, imagination, do not believe in coincidences, hence why I took this as a sign. The effortless communication I've already mentioned was another one, and later every glance was interpreted as significant, special, and not accidental, even when the distance was huge. Oh, those shifting circumstances! Collision, encounter, words. A letter with no addressee. And even the details that served as arguments for the mind were regarded as proof of the discomfort I knew so well. Leaving with a belief in something intangible, something that resembles fate. Settling down with the knowing that what's meant to happen will reach you. Curious hopes about whether the future will ever hold this person, and whether will he be a separate figure, moving in the background, or will he be far away, but, in fact, always right here."

I can't let myself trust my imagination — there's a risk of getting hooked on a complete delusion — as well as I can't completely disregard it — with how close my imagination is joined to my intuition, it sometimes creates a reality more real than the one my mind knows of, in other words, all fantasies have a drop of reality in them. So what if this reality I called silly and pushed away so harshly would come back later in life with you beside it? I must learn to live the middle path. I must forget, but how, if I'm still frolicking this way, with any sensibility completely lost somewhere, and I'm still overanalyzing all this silliness? This temporary mind eclipse I described here will never cease to bewilder me.

Anyway, here I either a, made a mistake recognizing you, or b, made a mistake not recognizing you. Thus, I was mistaken. Forgive me. Hopefully, next time I can be more careful.

With her stupidity and her silliness,

— Your Friend.

(August 22nd, 2022)