I’ve seen you’ve been to my favourite street in London. I wonder if my amazement comes from being a foreigner or if you also love standing there for a second to take in what surrounds you. Does fascination ever slip from your fingers because you’ve had it for too long?
A few months ago you could’ve found me there kissing a boy almost as tall as you. I wonder if you kissed your girl there too. I wonder if you still have your girl. If she makes you happy then I hope you do.
I remember you every time I laugh at a well executed joke. You’ll never read this but I wish you would because I know you’d love to know that.
I had promised I wouldn’t write about you anymore because there’s nothing to say but something changed and the urge to have you back is gone now. Stripped of my desire, your face is now the face of a friend I wish I had known better.
I think I’m finally being fair with you. I never actually cared about you when I wanted to have you. And it’s not like I love you, because I have no resources to do that, but I do want to see you and tell you how glad I am to know you’re well. I really hope you’re doing well.
It makes no sense (no sense, absolutely no sense) to remember you so often but I do. There must’ve been something in you or me or us both. I wonder if you remember me too. I hope you do and I wish you didn’t because the person you met it’s not someone I’m proud of. I don’t know who you are anymore and maybe these new versions of us wouldn’t like each other but I will choose to think they would.
I know London is a massive city and we will probably never run into one another, but I like you differently now so I can’t help but think the universe could maybe push us to cross paths at least once. It would be harmless this time. I’m not longing to see you so I can use you to fill voids. I am surprisingly full now.
There’s a hug I never gave you and as far as I know I might have to save it forever. It’s a good thing I like I writing letters.
