for Letters of Love
I hope this letter finds you alive – all senses and engines burnings – and well. It might find you waiting in line at the Christmas market. It might find you taking a break from sitting in the sun. It might find you in your most uncomfortable outfit, a little too full of life to start cleaning the kitchen and a little too empty now that everyone’s gone. It might find you in the light, in the dark, in the back of his favourite café, in foreign places, in your parents’ car, in between her cream-coloured pillows, before, after, in the midst of chaos – only, I hope, not too late.
This letter comes to tell you a few things I know to be true, in the naive hope that you won’t mind me not always leading by example. I believe that love, even the love radiating from a stranger’s writings, is better than no love at all, and this is my way of passing it on. Love, as you know, is the only mechanism that can put both your warmth and your strength into motion, make you both gentler and more self-assured, sing you to sleep and ready you for war in the same voice. So take a deep breath, and read on.
Allow yourself to roll life between your fingers and laugh at its nonsense from time to time. You can’t change overnight – we build ourselves up too strong to slip into another skin at the snap of one’s fingers, even if they happen to be our own. If you truly want to become an artist, give up everything else and work on your dream for a year. If you don’t achieve anything then you belong right back where you started.
Nobody shows up at your door at three in the morning only to tell you that they don’t love you anymore. If they do, know that they’re lying. People are very bad actors. They never live up to your expectations. Never fill yourself up to the top. Let there always be room for more. Take only what is necessary. Take only what you love. Experiences stay in you, you move out of them. The sweetness and danger of losing control are grossly underestimated.
Safety is not always a friend. Safety believes that life exists all around you only to be contemplated in silence. Do not enjoy, touch or use it, or anxiety will grow on you like bacteria. Indulge into knowing that you’ve made it so far, that you’re sorted, that you got to Heaven. That you are as good as dead. Newfound energy is not exhausting. Still waiting is. When you’re on the run, intensity feels light. You remember indecisiveness as a long stormy night, and it’s just not poetic anymore.
If they make you their secret hiding place and you pull the curtains and let the sun in, they’ll leave. Not everybody wants your helping hand. Some just want your shoulder. None of your tricks can free them, because freedom isn’t given, it’s taken. You can learn so much from your most badass version. The things that you’ve filled up with feelings will always tip the balance in their favour. Allow the new to show you a few tricks before you reject it. Put your heart into it, but don’t forget to take it back at the end of the day. Your fire is the most precious thing you’ll ever have. Don’t give it away to anybody. Nobody needs it.
Sometimes you’re overly excited at the possibility of having found someone beautiful, that you risk making up miles of them. Don’t. If you fill all their gaps with imaginary cotton candy, you won’t know who’s right and who’s wrong at the end of the day, because you won’t know what’s real and what isn’t. Make silhouettes of spilled ink out of them and pass them on, if you must. Writing the essential endurance strategy for surviving the empty soul wilderness, for all I know. Whoever you happen to be, know that I mean everything, even if I struggle with some of it. I am still learning the same things as you, for I am a little bit like you.