Simple things less simple.

The day after my interaction with Mr. VNRS I received the loveliest e-mail from a dear friend, who I hope will not mind me publishing an excerpt and will forgive me for not asking first. (I will take it down if you ask me to!) I find his writing -- English is a second language to him -- beautiful and poetic in its simplicity and speaks to me of another time when writing a letter was an art.

I don't even know how to start... Good morning?!

Hopefully you are doing alright. Apologies in advance for the probably messed-up shape or order of thoughts and things in this e-mail... Complete with a few months of intensive English forgetting-by-not-speaking-anymore. I think I just basically want to hear from you... And of course, offer some news also...

I believe that last time we saw each other was very, very brief. ...I must have appeared very rude...because I had to leave as C*** was starting to feel sick.

So I didn't stay...[a]nd I couldn't even have a little chat with you. It was all too short... And then... Time flew.

I have read your post, earlier tonight, about how you (sorry if I'm betraying the idea by re-expressing it) are basically envisaging how seeing someone is seeing them for the last time. It's really insane, it brought (still does bring) tears to my eyes, because when I hugged you goodbye on that night that I described above, I had exactly the same idea in my mind...

...with a different mindset, though. I was probably trying to anticipate for the reverse-culture-clash that I knew was ahead. But basically this kind of self-cynical sadness that lays behind the idea seems to be exactly the same.

I do not really know how or why we initially became (good) acquintances... Besides the fact that we have a connection of geekiness, and maybe art sensitivity (which you're so amazingly good at expressing)... It seems like a great and precious thing, though. Therefore I do not really know or understand why we never developed a stronger bond either... Meaning, we rarely hung out, if at all. It's even more impressive now that some time has passed. Can you believe that we met in 2004? That was more than three years ago. You forever are part of the very significant people of my life in Seattle. Even though I am capable of having the same kind of thoughts about people coming, going, gravitating, I still mean it.

And I have no idea why I am telling you all that in that order. I am starting to wonder if it is making any sense, and if it's not becoming too boring!

...Your health. I wish I could help. I really, really do. I feel terrible that I've missed a few seemingly crucial episodes. And to punctuate this short summary of unsummarizable feelings, I am also really, really glad that you are seemingly in good hands at the right time.

...For months I have had archived e-mails from you that "I really need to reply to". Until it's so far, distance and time-wise, that the words are just rushing out and no matter the order, they are just too many to make all the sense they should.

But hey... I wanted to say hello. Simple things. I hope that you are healing. I really wish I could easily spend some time sharing some physical space with you. I wish I could have seen Space. I wish we'll perform some karaoke together some more time. I miss my roommate of only three months. All that.

Context just makes these simple things less simple to say. For example, I am fearing that they might not appear sincere. But they are.

Have a nice day,

Random, distant E***

How wonderful, and such good timing.

This is what I mean about my life: in my own way, I am mind-blowingly fortunate. I do have people who love me; a long list of them. I understand that I haven't always been deserving of their esteem and that, at times, I know have been a frustratingly absent friend. I've been trying to change, but, of course, not fast enough for my own tastes.

I find that the moments of the greatest craving for my own death are characterized by a longing, an overwhelming feeling of love for my people accompanied by a feeling of insurmountable distance. It's almost a sweet feeling, and I feel unafraid of whatever may come next. It's a high, and infinitely preferable to a deep and miserable depression.

But I remember what it's like to be happy, too, happy all the time and so much so that you think you'll burn away from the feeling. Clean, simple, uncomplicated.

I think, from now on, I must search for these times of an unburdened heart.

I expect to be very bad at it. Maybe I'll get better in time.