(no subject)
My recent letter to my mom (for those of you who were able to see it) was a text form of a lot of emotional processing. This, in a different vein, is more of the same.
Dear Samantha,
You said recently: "You aren't losing me, just playing a slightly subdued role." That statement has come to take on new meaning for me lately, and I think I've come to terms with it.
A thought was brought to my attention lately about how "real friends" can be after weeks, months, or even years without communicating at all. With more casual acquaintances, when contact is reestablished after long dropouts like that, things can be awkward, feel distant, and perhaps first bring up questions like "So why haven't I heard from you in months, jerkface?" When friends regain contact, however, it's like no time has passed, conversation quickly feels exactly as comfortable as it always did, and the first question is more akin to "How has your life been/what's happened since last time we talked?" While, in the interim without communication, the friendship may seem a fond memory of past tense, the first meeting afterwards shows the connection hasn't dropped or changed. I know how true this is, and how it feels in practice, by having experienced it a few times. As the saying goes, "Love never dies" -- even the platonic kind.
It's occurred to me that now, that's what's meant to happen with us. In the words of a John Lennon song, "The dream is over."
You're at a place in your life where you can't actively pursue our friendship. Present as I may make you in my own thoughts, we've reached a point where I can only move those thoughts to past tense.
You've left innumerable footprints in my life, my taste, my personality, and even my moment-to-moment perception of the world. You've changed my definition and sense of love. These footprints can't be removed -- and I wouldn't want them to be -- but I can't continue living them as if I can turn to you in a moment and share the thought with you; you're no longer able to have that kind of presence. Still, they define our connection -- and define you -- for me, and they always will.
I don't intend to delete you from LiveJournal, Facebook, or even my phone; but I know I can't keep reaching out while you're not in a position to reach back. That said, I will gracefully step back and take my "subdued role" until life nudges us back in contact.
This may all seem like I'm making a Really Big Deal out of something simple, but my bond with you has always been a Really Big Deal to me and I'm not about to let communication fade without giving you the closure you deserve.
My door will always be open to you. Our bond is unconditional and even a change like this doesn't change that. I'm always afraid of relationships ending or contact dropping because I lack faith that the other person will ever return; but choosing this road with us is an act of me putting faith into the idea that I'm truly not losing you -- I know you'll return when the time is right; even if I'm wrong about all this and the right time ends up being next week.
So goodbye -- until next time. And thank you for everything you've brought me.
Now get out of my house, monkeybutt.
Love,
Jesse
P.S. Did you hear that Jerry Orbach died???
Dear Samantha,
You said recently: "You aren't losing me, just playing a slightly subdued role." That statement has come to take on new meaning for me lately, and I think I've come to terms with it.
A thought was brought to my attention lately about how "real friends" can be after weeks, months, or even years without communicating at all. With more casual acquaintances, when contact is reestablished after long dropouts like that, things can be awkward, feel distant, and perhaps first bring up questions like "So why haven't I heard from you in months, jerkface?" When friends regain contact, however, it's like no time has passed, conversation quickly feels exactly as comfortable as it always did, and the first question is more akin to "How has your life been/what's happened since last time we talked?" While, in the interim without communication, the friendship may seem a fond memory of past tense, the first meeting afterwards shows the connection hasn't dropped or changed. I know how true this is, and how it feels in practice, by having experienced it a few times. As the saying goes, "Love never dies" -- even the platonic kind.
It's occurred to me that now, that's what's meant to happen with us. In the words of a John Lennon song, "The dream is over."
You're at a place in your life where you can't actively pursue our friendship. Present as I may make you in my own thoughts, we've reached a point where I can only move those thoughts to past tense.
You've left innumerable footprints in my life, my taste, my personality, and even my moment-to-moment perception of the world. You've changed my definition and sense of love. These footprints can't be removed -- and I wouldn't want them to be -- but I can't continue living them as if I can turn to you in a moment and share the thought with you; you're no longer able to have that kind of presence. Still, they define our connection -- and define you -- for me, and they always will.
I don't intend to delete you from LiveJournal, Facebook, or even my phone; but I know I can't keep reaching out while you're not in a position to reach back. That said, I will gracefully step back and take my "subdued role" until life nudges us back in contact.
This may all seem like I'm making a Really Big Deal out of something simple, but my bond with you has always been a Really Big Deal to me and I'm not about to let communication fade without giving you the closure you deserve.
My door will always be open to you. Our bond is unconditional and even a change like this doesn't change that. I'm always afraid of relationships ending or contact dropping because I lack faith that the other person will ever return; but choosing this road with us is an act of me putting faith into the idea that I'm truly not losing you -- I know you'll return when the time is right; even if I'm wrong about all this and the right time ends up being next week.
So goodbye -- until next time. And thank you for everything you've brought me.
Now get out of my house, monkeybutt.
Love,
Jesse
P.S. Did you hear that Jerry Orbach died???