Scribbled Letters for W #001:
Don’t you dare think I’ve been in love with the concept. I’ve loved you, not the idea of you. I’ve never been more certain over anything; I’ve loved you and don’t you dare fucking pity me because I feel proud. I feel proud of having loved you, I feel proud of having been a part of your life, I feel proud of having experienced this and if I have loved you passionately and truly, it is because you caused it in me. You made it possible. And most of all, I have loved you in terms of loving you without hope, without expectation, without any desire for this to be any other way than what it precisely is. Our moments have been all; our moments have been enough. And I’ve been self-aware enough as to accept all the raw pain which comes with this realization; I never settled for nothing but the real thing and you are the real thing. It’s been fantastic, love, loving you. It’s been exquisite and special. It’s been scary and crazy but it’s been whole. And I love you for that: I love you for never making me question for a moment the fact that I love you and not my own feelings for you. Almost everything seems like a fatal illusion; reality forces you to sooner or later mentally dismantle your own way of loving and once the illusion’s been destroyed you’re left with some blank state of numbness which you willfully misinterpret as “heartache”. It’s not been like that with you, this is a certainty of mine and I mistrust all certainties regarding feelings and how they change and how they overall consume and devour one’s soul, but yeah, this is my only certainty. I have loved you with my heart
