Thursday, 19th of January, 2012 Greece

There are so many things I want to say but I don't know how or to whom or if it will even make any difference. I've tried blogging about them but everytime I'm not what's the proper way to begin and I simply stare at the screen. I guess writing from the heart takes something more than a keyboard. For me, there has to be paper, an envelope and a pen.

  And someone to send the letter to of course.

  Maybe I should get a penpal.

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 Dear X,

   You may or may not know who you are. I've written about you before, in the end, I fear that this entire blog is going to end up being about you and only about you. If this is my secret personnal blog where I'm supposed to write my innermost thoughts then that is quite rather dangerous. I don't want it to be all about you, especially since I don't want it to be about you at all. Period.

  I'm not going to say that I'll get over you 'cause I'll simply be lying to myself again and there is no point in repeating my self. But I've come to hate this. Whatever it is. I hate to feel this numb expectation everytime I see you. Because I'm tired of my feelings being about you. There is no us, ther could have been, but there never was.

  I just need to fall in love again. With someone else. Someone who will not be you. Maybe with someone with whom it will work out. I need to have something to look forward to. Sometimes life seems so empty and time seems to pass me by like wind and I realise that maybe I'm the one who's empty.

  I want to change that but I'm not sure I can. I just want this terrible ache in my heart to stop, though I know it is not because of you that I have it but rather because of what I would like to have with the image of you that I have in my mind. I want someone to hold me in the night under the blankets, someone who will kiss me lightly, who will caress my skin, someone to make love with. Not sex, in the instictual way of the word, but rather someone with whom touching will be enough. Someone in whom I'll get lost even if I never find my way back.

  I want to run from this place but I am too much of a coward and too caught up with what I'm supposed to be to do that. Sometimes I feel that I'm only the expectations of others and that it is for others that I struggle. I wonder when I'll have the courage to get up and just walk away. Or at least, that if I stayed, there would be something worth staying for.

  You do not care about those things of course. Why should you? I don't expect you to anyway. Yet I find myself writing to you - in an anonymous blog because I'd never be able to send all this in written form to you in person - for a reason that I cannot comprehend. Maybe it's because I really really did wish that I'd be able to do that in real life, not in the internet.

  And so you see, you are like that. You're like a social expectation, a habit. My feelings for you now feel like something that merely has to be done. I've gotten accustomed to you and I think that I'm terrified to go out there and love an other, fall for an other, be accepted or rejected by another. Because I know how to handle it when it comes from you.

  And sometimes we still talk, in the corridor or someplace else, little insignificant conversations that I remember afterwards and replay over and over in my head in spite of everything. And you see, I wonder if you ever do. I wonder if you ever care, if you ever wish that I would stay a bit longer to talk, if you ever consider to do it yourself.

  I wonder if you ever remember. If you remember that reckless confession of mine, your answer, everything. And I wonder what it meant for you.

  And now I have to go, because I am expected and I know that I have made no progress. And that is what hurts me the most. I always stay in words.

  And words have stopped giving me comfort.

  And so I leave you.

  And wonder whether there is any difference.

   Emilia.