For Your Consideration (unsent letter)
I have been an absolute fool for you lately. You tell me that you spent the show thinking of me, and I laugh because I spend everything thinking of you. If I am lost in my work for a few hours the first thing I think when I look up is to congratulate myself on having gone so long without thinking of you. It’s all so silly. I feel like a silly girl and like the parts of myself I am most critical of are at the forefront. I tell myself I am stupid and only embarrassing myself, that I must be locked away and have said too much when I have said nothing at all.
The reasonable thing would be to speak to you about this. Imagine that. I push it off and push it off because I am cowardly and easily influenced. I am so ashamed at the idea of expressing myself that the possibility of actually doing it is laughable. Tell you how I feel?
Risk… what?
I look in the mirror and think of how I will see you in two weeks, and laugh at myself for how comforted I am to postpone the inevitability of some sort of expression of my feelings, and that that is such a long time considering the way I’m living. I am more comfortable living in my thoughts, as torturous as it is.
Of course it is all of the above but sexuality is a significant part. I freely express my sexual feelings to you because lust comes with a level of plausible deniability. I also have plenty of evidence that you feel the same way I do beyond feelings of lust. And yet I consider killing myself thinking that you know anything about me and what goes on in my head, even though you explicitly ask me to tell you!
I’d like to access your brain for just one day. This is a one sided proposition. I would not give you access to mine. Then you would know what I think about with you in mind, and then…
Maybe it would come true. It’s possible.
I’m older now. I feel differently. And I would like things to go differently now than they have in the past.
For your consideration,