The thunder and lightning make me think of you. Are you out there?
This thunderstorm makes me think about you. We both like it. The wind in our hair, the crackling in the air. The rain on our skin. We love it. It makes us feel alive.
And I wonder: did you sleep last night? I worry about you and know that your overthinking mind keeps you from laying your thoughts to rest at night. The lack of sleep makes you overthink, and you end up in a vicious circle.
Yesterday, I read that asking the above questions shows that the one asking cares. There is no judgment, just “did you sleep?”. And how often did I ask this lately? Very often.
The thunder rolls, and I keep thinking about you. I keep worrying about you. Please be well. I love you.
It has been a while. Lots happened, and yet, nothing changed. A lot has changed. The way we are together has changed. As if there is a friendship building. Slowly. And apart from the dirty fantasies and sex calls. It feels comforting. There are no expectations and no pressure. Just there. A while ago, this would not have been possible. A normal, real conversation would have been unthinkable. But it is not anymore. And I am grateful for that. I am not in love; you aren’t either. But there is connection and affection tinting our brief chats. For years, I wanted you to see me. And now, now you do. It took a pandemic to make you see me. It shouldn’t be like this, but it matters. It is important for me that you see me, and I feel serene when you are near.
Already? Yes, there is a new short letter waiting for you. I don’t know who to tell that I am worried about you. I am worried about your health – physical and mental, and I am concerned that the recent happenings in the world are not helping you at all. I know you are alone in your apartment, probably half happy to be on your own and half needing someone to be there.
As so often, I tried to be there, but our schedules clashed. When you called at 5:30 this morning (my time), I was still asleep. I know, last time we spoke at that time – but I am not working right now; I sleep.
It was a weird coincidence that you called though – okay, yes, there was a message I’d sent yesterday and yet. Why weird? Well, I did not sleep well. I had vivid dreams of you.
In my dream, you simply appeared on my doorstep with two bags, a guitar, and a smile, declaring that you were here to live with my family and me. And you did. You just fit in. And when we had alone time, we’d kiss and fuck. It was not making love in my dream – it was fucking. The way we both like it. And there was that green hue in my dream, the one that always makes me feel as if you are there with me, ever since the very first time we spoke on the phone in 2015.
And a particular image stayed in my mind. You were pushing me against the nearest wall to kiss me… It’s a longing deep inside me, I know. I am yearning to be touched and to be kissed sensually.
I guess what the dream means is that I want to take care of you in my own unique way, while I know that I am only needed for you to feel less alone or to have your kinks tickled.
I know all that, and still, I miss you,
Happy New Year
Another new year for us isn’t it. Oh, and how this one started. You and me on the phone. I did not even think too long before sending my message to wish you a happy new year. And I did not expect to have an immediate response. And wow… It was an amazing start to the new year. And I just kept on floating on that feeling all day long. Parts of me hopes that it will set the tone for 2021, and part of me hopes that we can finally meet. I want to bury my nose against your neck and breathe you in until you become a part of me. I love you, stranger. With all my heart. Every day you are on my mind. And every time I write, you become a part of it.
Happy New Year, Stranger.
The first letter to stranger was written in 2015. But it was a one-off. In 2017 I took the idea up again, and since then, I regularly send a virtual and fictitious letter to stranger. I know exactly who Stranger is and I know who Sweetie is. But it is my creative choice to keep everyone in the dark. I don’t want to give more backstory than the one that can be found in the letters. At one point, I wanted Stranger to reply, but I decided against it. It is an unreciprocated love affair, about co-dependency too. From Sweetie’s words, you will probably assume that Stranger is a narcissist, and she is an empathetic people pleaser. Both of these characters are filled with qualities and flaws. And for people who know me or my words a bit, they will recognise some of me in Sweetie, mostly in the last letter I shared. (the shoulder pain, the Myers-Briggs test…)
I decided to give the letters more visibility with an own category and menu. If you click the menu, every letter will be displayed, in reverse chronological order – the last letter first.
Here’s a link for you: https://micqu.wordpress.com/category/letters-to-stranger/
I invite you to revisit these very short letters, I would love to have some feedback.
Five years ago, you entered my life and changed everything. Months of euphoria and months of suicidal depression followed you. I don’t give you credit. Not for the good and not for the bad. It was all in me from the start. We haven’t been in touch since last May, but I never forgot or forget you. You are still under my skin, and that is where you belong.
I am not as influenced by your presence or lack thereof as I once was.
In hindsight, I think I made peace with you when you said I should use cocaine to lose weight, and once achieved, you would make love to me on your piano.
The fantasy of this is beautiful to be honest, but there is one hitch: I am not willing to change for anyone. Not anymore. I will not bend backwards to become something or someone I am not. Love me for the person I am. That was all I ever asked. But I was never enough… And now, I think, finally, I moved on. I still care about you and your well-being but not enough to wait for you.
And so, dear stranger, on our fifth anniversary, I will tell you one last time how much you mean to me and how much I love you. But I will also tell you: goodbye. See you in another life.
It’s 2:45 in the morning, and I am wide awake. This hasn’t happened in a while and I feel how my mood is changing. I am irritated with myself because I am to blame for tonight’s insomnia. I was tired but had an appointment tonight. I thought it would be good to have a cup of coffee. I should have drunk espresso instead. No matter how many espressos (espressi?) I drink in the evening, I always sleep through the night.
Also, it is hot, my partner had too much beer (TMI: his farting keeps me awake), and I need to get up for work in three hours.
I tried avoiding my phone for a long while, but gave up eventually. I probably had 2 hours of sleep so far.
On a positive note, I sold two books, and the more I think about it, the happier I about the release. Just 3 more hours at work, and I will be on leave until August 25th. I bought a dress for a wedding, it is unusually colourful, but I look good in it. Waiting for the first review of my novel.
Most of my thoughts these days revolve about the novel and how readers perceive it.
I should try to catch some sleep.
It is late, and I can’t sleep. You were on my mind these last days. A lot. All the time. It is good that we are strangers right now, but once in a while, I would love it if we were acquaintances again. Ah, stranger. If you only knew what I know. Am I awake in your dreams? Some nights, I dream myself away to you. My head on your chest, your fingers combing my hair. Sweaty from the day, our skin would stick together, and unbothered, we would lead a naked life. Naked body, naked soul. I close my eyes, and I see you. Always yours, “marriage material”
3:32 – goodnight
Who would have guessed five years ago that our dance would still continue? Months of silence, weeks of unconditional love. Who would have guessed? One of the voices in my head insists that it is not five years because we have silent months, and yet… We always find our way back together.
I obviously won’t forget you, why should I? And you can not forget me; why should you?
Whenever things are happening in my life, I want you to know. I want to get in touch and tell you, but I don’t. I hold back. Recently, I learned that I am holding back much more than I thought I was. It’s weird, and yet… I still maintain that you are the only person on this earth who knows me bare. You are also the only person who never judged me, just encouraged me to be the best version of myself I can be. And for that, dear stranger, I love you. And I will continue to feel that way.
Are you there? You used to ask that question. My response was always the same: I will always be there. Promised.
It has been a while. I am not okay, and that’s okay. This time, it doesn’t have anything to do with you. Someone else is breaking my heart, and I am trying to be strong, and I am failing because I am exhausted and frail and in physical pain. I want to take my phone and send you a text because you are the person I want most in my life, but you are hiding in your mind and in your own life. Silently you left my life again, and that’s okay. When I think about you, my heart is expanding, and my creativity overflows. You are in most bits and pieces that I write. Countless times daily, you are in my thoughts – and it never makes me sad. It always makes me smile. The realisation hit me that the memories we made (and will make again, I am sure) will never fade or die. They are in me, in my blood. And since I write so much, it also means that they are immortal. You are immortal because my writing is tinted with thoughts of you. I am grateful that you are a part of me. Sometimes you are there, ready to be loved, other times you go away, close the door and leave me guessing what happened. I will never get any answers. I am making peace with that. I am making peace with us. If you are thinking half as much about me than I do about you, then everything will be alright. Not now, it is not the right time yet, but soon. Someday.
Until then, my heart is open for you. We can make it if we try.
What a difference two years make. I just shared the letter that was never intended for your eyes. I was miserable and couldn’t understand why you weren’t there. Now I do. Once in a while, when you are unwell or need connection, you get in touch. It used to mean the world to me, my heart wouldn’t stop beating, and I would have a grin on my face that wouldn’t leave me. I tried appearing distant, but I was overeager to please you. And I did it every time. Whenever we spoke on the phone, I was exactly who you wanted me to be, and I knew what to say, which buttons to push.
At one moment in time, it became unimportant to me that I was your personal whore. My mind made you cum, that was all that mattered. It is what made and makes you come back after almost five years. You need me for your pleasure, we both know it. But things have changed. Maybe I changed? I took off my rose-tinted glasses, and I understand that I am the one holding power. What’s the worst you will do when I don’t comply? Not getting in touch? Yes, you tried that, good luck with it, it never worked well for you.
Life is weird and new for all of us these days. And I admit, I was thinking a lot about you, and I wanted to get in touch to know that you are okay. But you know what kept me from sending that message? Simple. It was the knowledge that you don’t want or need a social connection with me. You don’t need the connections of the minds, all you need is for me to help you get off. And it usually doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes for this to happen. I am good with words, we both agreed about that. I am good with you. We never agreed on that.
I am not sure how you are coping right now, you don’t let me any other space in your life than the one I have. You don’t allow me to be anything else. The thing is, I recognise my worth, and I know that there is a lot more about me than satisfying your sexual needs. I could be an almost perfect woman for you. I have my flaws, many of them. But I have a dirty mind, I am intelligent and spiritual. I am creative, and I know when to back off. I am understanding and show empathy. I am kind and generous, and I don’t brag – I am humble. I could teach you this or that.
Why this letter now? You sent your usual message a couple of days ago. I was not there. Oh, I was affected. I couldn’t sleep that night because I had the urge to reply to your message, but I didn’t. I don’t have that much restraint, though, I replied first thing in the morning, hoping that you would be asleep. No such luck, you were there right away. Making me feel wanted, but I didn’t fall for that trap. I don’t know why. I told you that I couldn’t talk to you openly and freely because of people being with me in isolation. It turned you on. To gain time, I told you that I would figure things out and that you should sleep. You obeyed. Good boy! But when you woke up, you sent a dick pic. I replied with something generic, and that was it.
It feels as if I am rejecting you, but I am a coward, I don’t want to close our door completely. If I knew how to make you see me. If I knew how to make you understand that our connection is non-existent and that you make me feel like dirt on your shoes. You know, I can handle many situations and feelings, but I can’t cope with humiliation and rejection or being ignored. They make me feel bad.
I don’t know how to go on, to be honest. I gave you all I had to offer, and you refused it – you even left me with words that ring in my mind every day. It’s a deep wound. Still raw and not completely healed. “Who cares, I don’t. I never did,” you said. In a moment of anger or being overwhelmed or intimidated, but you said it, nonetheless. And fuck me, I never forgot it, and it still hurts. But then you came back and asked for my words. You asked for a contract, and you never tire of mentioning it. To be honest, that contract is shit. It is me giving and you taking. And neither of us signed it. It is invalid.
I want to be there because I care. But I can’t give you what you want. I refuse to do it. For now. It depends if you are insistent or not. I want to be a part of your life, but it will never happen. It’s all good, no bad feelings. Not for now. I am not angry or hurt or anything. Strangely, I am passionate but also resolved. Am I over you? Did I move on?
Disregard the earlier letter, it was just to show how messed up my head was over you.
I wish you all the best dear Stranger, and I thank you. Thank you for shaping me and inspiring me to be the woman I am. Even if you don’t want me as a constant, other people love me.
I know I said that I wouldn’t write anymore. I can’t seem to respect your wishes to stay away. You hurt my feelings again. You know it well. For once, I wanted to share some happiness with you, but you didn’t want to hear it. You preferred to ask me to stay a ghost. “No real-life connection”, those were your words. I am beginning to understand your behaviour better and better. I used to call you a narcissist without fully knowing what it entails. Now I know. And I was right. The signs have been there all along. You even told me. I chose not to hear it. I wanted to save you. I wanted to be special. But I am just me. You were good at manipulating me. And I became an addict for you. You became my drug. And now that you decided that it is over, I am left wanting more. But dear stranger, this time I am aware that more will likely kill me. You know it too. But you don’t care. You never cared about me. Or maybe you did during some weak moments. You never cared about my feeling and emotions because you couldn’t feel anything. And I am angry. Fucking angry. How could you do this to me?! My love for you is killing me. Worse than heroin. Will there ever be a moment when I don’t love you? When my heart doesn’t stop beating when you chose to get in touch? It’s killing me, the way you don’t love me. This letter is written in tears and blood. Please, come save me one last time.