Wednesday, August 31, 2005

I told myself I wouldn't write about him again. Not here. Not for everyone to read and know. But I was packing for Montreal tonight and I picked up my journal - something I haven't touched since early July, since I used it at the conference in Orange. There's only one page left and folded up at the back was the letter I wrote one of the nights I cried myself to sleep. Meant for him, but never delivered of course. I looked at it and hesitated - I wasn't sure if I wanted to read it - I certainly didn't feel like crying about it all over again. In the end, I did read it and...and well, nothing. The only things that followed were a small sigh and a want to share it here with you. Goodness knows why.

I want so badly to begin this letter with "To My Dearest Jason" like I'm so used to, and in a way, you will always be the Jason nearest and dearest to my heart. But I no longer have the privilege of writing such things.

I've been thinking a lot about this week and why we are here - why we were brought together, in California of all places, and why now after so many months. I have yet to come up with an answer and perhaps the reason will not reveal itself to me until much later. My wishful thinking got me believing that we might be friends again, but my more recent thoughts have me thinking otherwise. Perhaps this was a sign for me to push myself harder in moving on. This was a chance to see you in one of your most favourite environments and to realize that maybe we really shouldn't be anywhere near each other. For the time that we were together I was filled with such love I felt as though I could burst. But now seeing you leaves me feeling empty and deflated.

I wish we could talk. I wish I could look you in the eye for more than a few seconds. I wish I could touch you. I wish that I could have been there when you found out about your mother. I wish that I could have held your hand, held you close, told you that I love you or let the silence speak for itself. I wish that I didn't have to hear the news from a stranger that we both met mere days ago. But this is another fine example of my self-centeredness. I hope/know that you had someone there for you when you did find out. I hope/know that they offer a support like I didn't - that they love you like you deserve to be loved. I'm glad that you know you deserve no less than what the finest people of the world - and the world itself - has to offer.

I heard that you're seeing someone now - a best friend that only wants what's best for you - and I'm glad to know that. I hope your relationship is strong and full of the love and trust you deserve. I wish that I didn't have to hear the two heaviest pieces of news from strangers, but maybe that's another lesson to myself: you're doing just fine. And it would be silly for me not to have thought so. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for. In a way, I'm glad I know - this is the closure that everyone needs. There's no room for wishful thinking anymore. I'm glad you're happy. Whether or not you knew it at the time, it is what I've always wanted for you.

I wonder if we would have ever spoken had I not approached you on Monday. Regardless, I know all that I need to know for now - or for however long the fates decide. Maybe we have finally come to the end of the road - I'm not sure. You were my seven year glimpse at what could have been. As beautiful as it was at times - I'm sure that what you have in the end will be better.

When I think of art, I think of something pure. When I think of art, I think of what we had once upon a time. I will never be able to deny that our love was pure, that my love for you was pure once. No matter what, it will always exist. When we broke up I could only remember the bad things - all our arguments and fights. Now I can only think of the love, the fun, the shared experiences - things I will never ever forget. I will admit that I have not been able to let go of you yet, but I suppose the last few days has taught me that I need to.