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Dear Simon, I Think There’s Been a Misunderstanding
What can you do when the lines of communication go dark?
I know you think and feel as deep as the waters of time itself, Simon, but you’re giving me a headache. I never know what to think when you come up with your conspiracies. How many times have I heard about alien invasions or the fall of our society thanks to artificial intelligence?
But most of all — I think somewhere along the way you’ve forgotten who I am.
You think I’m going to bars every weekend while I try to forget you. You think my friends are taking me to clubs to dance the night away in someone else’s arms. You think I’m slavering after each male when, really, I’m taking my time through life.
Love, whatever that means to me, takes time.
Love, whatever that will be for me, is more than just words on a page. I cherish your poems, your stories written on scraps of notebook paper, and all the letters you wrote to me. But I need more than that.
I need late-night conversations with someone who’s not waiting for the sky to fall.
I need the hourglass to stand still for a few hours while I try to wrap my head around life in all its precarious shades.
