Fuck Off. Like You Never Did.

Maybe it was the days when the saturated winter sun fell on our faces and I walked swiftly with you. You always liked to walk. A little too much. I like to run. You are a swimmer and I am so scared of water.

I knew I had lived a dream, then and there. Those days, screaming loud on my face of what 'could' have been, the option of never being possible was there, constantly in my mind. But I am such a fool, I always valued the touch of your skin too much. You know how fingers get entwined by themselves when you walk with a lover, but you never were my lover. And I miss you like that, not as a silly friend, but as a lover.

We fancied too much about the time when will have sex, I wrote stories and constructed imaginary tales of cold wet winters, and possibly cool summers, in a dingy room filling up with guilt and passion equally. 

I think now, why were your eyes dead? What was I ever to you? Just an escape, a runaway to hide with, under whose shelter you could fearlessly come inside and you had all the love I could offer. But more than that we talked, talked of so many different and little things.You said I was special, and you loved me. I was foolish enough to let myself slip. You said to me then that after three days you will forced back into reality, but what was fantastical for you, was real for me. And now you are in a different city like always, trying to reach me. But I cannot. I do not want to. 

I stand in the shoes which I have mocked for years, but I will never let you see. You are dispensable, don't think otherwise. It is not hard for me to get rid people I claimed to have love once. Believe me, a week or two or just a couple of days more, and the tables will turn. You will try hard to hear from me, but I will never reciprocate. because love, I am too scared of being vulnerable. Way too scared. You know I have never been that kind, the one who doesn't have the control. But no matter how much I try and make myself believe. No matter how much I think you need me, despite all that wishful thinking, I know I am just as dispensable for you. So we better keep the distance.

I have always had big dreams for you, you know I have. We made lots of those dreams together. remember that vivid piece I wrote  once, about a dream I had of you. I no longer dream of you. This is how it will fade away, slowly and step by step.

I do not why I write this, maybe because I want to talk to you, so badly. Tell you how my interview went and how I don't want to get into that place. Tell you where my passion lies and hear you contradict. Then ignore you when you send love along with your good nights. I still wonder if I love you, or if this is just the little pain felt when you pluck out someone close to you.

But 48 hours later I am reading this again. I think I miss you, that's there. But all this helplessness, like you are some unrequited love of mine who I can't help but dwell upon. Its not like that. Neither are you the man who made me terribly emotional after sex. Its not even that. I guess its because we talked a lot. About all the things possible and you inspired me in some twisted way to write. You made me watch Calfornication, which turned out to be absolutely disgusting. But remember the first clip you showed, and what eventually inspired me to watch was Hank Moody's letter. I have quoted it to you way too many time personally, I am thinking about it again and won't hesitate to put it here. Anyways you won't read all this.
Fuck Off.
Like I said to you every other day and like you never did.

Dear Karen,

If you're reading this, it means I actually worked up the courage to mail it, so good for me. You don't know me very well but if you get me started, I have a tendency to go on and on about how hard the writing is for me. This, this is the hardest thing I've ever had to write. There's no easy way to say this so I'll just say it. I met someone. It was an accident, I wasn't looking for it, I wasn't on the make. It was a perfect storm. She said one thing, I said another. Next thing I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation. Now there's this feeling in my gut: she might be The One. She's completely nuts in a way that makes me smile, highly neurotic, a great deal of maintenance required. She is you, Karen. That's the good news. The bad is that I don't know how to be with you right now. And it scares the ---- out of me. Because if I'm not with you right now, I have this feeling we'll get lost out there. It's a big, bad world full of twists and turns and people have a way of blinking and missing the moment, the moment that could have changed everything. I don't know what's going on with us, and I can't tell you why you should waste a leap of faith on the likes of me. But damn you smell good. Like home. And you make excellent coffee -- that's got to count for something, right? Call me.

Unfaithfully yours, Hank Moody