Mekista's note (if read.)
Kimble...
I've been meaning to tell you this in person, but for some reason, never quite had the chance. I've been meaning to tell you several times, I think...
While I must admit that I have some trepidation on the subject of sexual encounters, and this does cloud my judgment, I have come to realize that sex is not the only thing that has been missing so far from our relationship. And while you are an excellent kisser, and probably an excellent lover, sex is simply not my top priority in a relationship.
What is most important to me is compassion and companionship. When you are near, you make me feel like you are genuinely interested in me as a person... but then, nothing follows that feeling. We sit, we eat, we drink, we chitchat breezily... but not about anything truly important. We have had discussions on incredibly boring matters of devices that provide structural sheeting for tunnels... but never really discussed what a sunrise looks like.
You give many pretty gifts, and say many pretty things...
But when I think about our relationship, I remember... pretty gifts, and pretty words... but no substance. I remember putting on a dress for an anniversary ball, knowing that you'd just returned home, and wanting to dance with you... but you were never there. I stood there alone... quietly mocked, and flirted with by Bri. That sums up most of my end of the relationship, I think...
I used to like the thought that you were so interested in me, you drew beautiful pictures of me... and if some were less than decent, I supposed that it just meant that you were interested in me as more than just a friend. But... when I think about it, you expect me to be like those pictures... sealed within the spray shell you put atop them, frozen for your perusal and that of others. I sometimes think I can live like that -- frozen, without motion, to live only when looked upon, and remain idle otherwise...
But I am not completely frigid and frozen. I may not lust for gropings and fondlings and passionate kisses... although they are nice, they do not rule the world, much as some of the other crewmen might think so. But I can feel alone... and although the occasional flurry of kisses raises my heart for an evening, it sinks lower and lower each night I foolishly prepare myself to smile and greet you, only to find out that again, you aren't there...
Perhaps I am unworthy of love, for I cannot fully comprehend it... or perhaps I simply cannot grasp the magnitude of the way you are... or perhaps, I am simply not meant to be your love. Whatever it is, Kimble... I cannot continue destroying myself this way. Even my friends think I am mad for simply having continued with this farcical life so long, for believing...
I am sure that you will find love, or lust, or something in life... and I am unsure that I will. But it doesn't matter anymore... I am sure that you will attempt to woo and convince me (while claiming that you're unworthy of my affections) the next time we meet, or seek vengeance, or attempt to kill yourself, or simply shrug and go on with life... so be it. It won't matter, Kimble... I can't go working myself up, then letting myself down again, and again, and again.
Goodbye, Kimble... may we meet again, and someday, perhaps, maybe we can speak as friends... or fight as enemies. I don't know.
-- Mekista Tinkerfingers
I've been meaning to tell you this in person, but for some reason, never quite had the chance. I've been meaning to tell you several times, I think...
While I must admit that I have some trepidation on the subject of sexual encounters, and this does cloud my judgment, I have come to realize that sex is not the only thing that has been missing so far from our relationship. And while you are an excellent kisser, and probably an excellent lover, sex is simply not my top priority in a relationship.
What is most important to me is compassion and companionship. When you are near, you make me feel like you are genuinely interested in me as a person... but then, nothing follows that feeling. We sit, we eat, we drink, we chitchat breezily... but not about anything truly important. We have had discussions on incredibly boring matters of devices that provide structural sheeting for tunnels... but never really discussed what a sunrise looks like.
You give many pretty gifts, and say many pretty things...
But when I think about our relationship, I remember... pretty gifts, and pretty words... but no substance. I remember putting on a dress for an anniversary ball, knowing that you'd just returned home, and wanting to dance with you... but you were never there. I stood there alone... quietly mocked, and flirted with by Bri. That sums up most of my end of the relationship, I think...
I used to like the thought that you were so interested in me, you drew beautiful pictures of me... and if some were less than decent, I supposed that it just meant that you were interested in me as more than just a friend. But... when I think about it, you expect me to be like those pictures... sealed within the spray shell you put atop them, frozen for your perusal and that of others. I sometimes think I can live like that -- frozen, without motion, to live only when looked upon, and remain idle otherwise...
But I am not completely frigid and frozen. I may not lust for gropings and fondlings and passionate kisses... although they are nice, they do not rule the world, much as some of the other crewmen might think so. But I can feel alone... and although the occasional flurry of kisses raises my heart for an evening, it sinks lower and lower each night I foolishly prepare myself to smile and greet you, only to find out that again, you aren't there...
Perhaps I am unworthy of love, for I cannot fully comprehend it... or perhaps I simply cannot grasp the magnitude of the way you are... or perhaps, I am simply not meant to be your love. Whatever it is, Kimble... I cannot continue destroying myself this way. Even my friends think I am mad for simply having continued with this farcical life so long, for believing...
I am sure that you will find love, or lust, or something in life... and I am unsure that I will. But it doesn't matter anymore... I am sure that you will attempt to woo and convince me (while claiming that you're unworthy of my affections) the next time we meet, or seek vengeance, or attempt to kill yourself, or simply shrug and go on with life... so be it. It won't matter, Kimble... I can't go working myself up, then letting myself down again, and again, and again.
Goodbye, Kimble... may we meet again, and someday, perhaps, maybe we can speak as friends... or fight as enemies. I don't know.
-- Mekista Tinkerfingers