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potatopossums · 3 years

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I miss you in an alterous way.

It sounds foreign to even out it that way, because I've never thought of myself as being different from anyone else. I never thought my feelings needed a different name. I never thought my feelings were like this.

But I miss you, and I'm embarrassed of saying that, because I'm afraid you'll hate me for that.

I miss your ideas, your ferocity. Maybe I imagined parts of you, and I miss those, too.

You tell me stories about your life, the trips you go on, the people you meet. I wish I could go with you, or reunite with you when you return home, as if I've ever done that before.

I try to tell you stories about my life to invite you in. I'm a cosy person, I'd like to imagine. I do a lot of work to make myself feel cosy, and I have ample amounts of it to give most of the time.

I wish I could just come up to you and ask for a hug. A long one. The kind where I could flop down on the couch and put a pillow on your thigh and sleep, maybe cry. I miss the comfort of being able to do that, like I did when I was growing up. I miss getting to cuddle, wrestle. I miss getting to physically feel another person's presence. It hasn't always been a nice feeling, but I have always imagined you'd be a kinder presence than my unpleasant majority of memories. You've always been so trustworthy, so open, inviting, welcoming. And maybe lonely, too. Having been hurt myself, I never fully understood how you could so easily want to be friends with so many others. Friendship to me was sacred and rare, difficult to truly find and devastating to lose. I didn't know how you did it; maybe I didn't believe that you did. But then, there you were, my friend already.

I'm... intimate. I don't know how else to describe it, and I don't want to frame it universally as bad. Maybe this isn't how you'd describe me. You told me I valued friendship. You told me I valued companionship. Those are two different things. To me, companionship is a level deeper. You do things together because it's the togetherness that's part of the activity, it's each other that's half the fun. You are a companion of mine. I care about you. I probably love you in a way u can't articulate aloud without feeling like it's the wrong words. All I know is that I just want to hug you and forget the whirling of my own mind for a minute. Just a minute. I remember the forest behind my elementary playground. I want to go there, to be a child with you in the grass, to play together with the bees and the mud and the sticks and grass. I want to cry when I'm afraid you'd never see me this way, even though I can nearly imagine you might see me this way even now, just with far less angst and ample self-assurance. I'm always afraid you'll disappear. I want to be there with you. I see your loneliness and it reminds me of my own. You're not me, of course. But I'd never want you to feel as alone as I sense you are.

Thank you for being my friend. I may be overwhelmingly emotional, but this is just how I've always been. I've always loved my friends deeply, and struggled to find the border between "friend" and "lover." I looked for the difference in all that I wanted and loved, and I found none. I only want intimacy, appreciation, comfort, and companionship.

I cry almost every day now. Over one thing or another. Sometimes you, sometimes myself, sometimes the forces that molded me into someone so anxious and afraid.

I hope you know I care about you. I overwork myself trying to show you that because words have never been enough in my experience. They're part of it, but they're not all of it. I hope you know. Because I don't want to just tell you with words. I would have done that a long time ago if I knew how. But here I am now. I write open letters to the void. I send you things that make me smile, laugh, cry. I tell you about my feelings. I think about you and your adventures, like a movie in my head. I think about my future and yours, and I wonder how things will change over time. I think of you when I plan my days because I want to spend time with you, I want to have time for you. I try to leave a slot open just in case sometimes. (Is this how my mother feels?)

Anyway. I miss you. Sometimes it's in a way that can feels chaotic, and other times it feels calming.

Oh, and you're pretty. I like looking at pretty people, watching them be pretty. I could do that all day. I don't need anything from them really. Only if they want. And I think I'd love to feel safe touching another person for once. Another person's face. Not being afraid of sickness or germs. Just touching someone else because maybe it feels nice for both of us. And I get to finally be curious.

Maybe one day I'll be able to at least see you. I think I'll be too emotional for jokes for a bit. I'm telling you, I'm a crier. But I know you'll tell me not to cry, so I'll tell you it's my right, and that I have to, and that I do it all the time and I'm not broken, I just can't regulate my emotions and they're always quite intense, so crying is a good outlet and I promise I'm not broken and that good, long, patient hugs that are in no rush at all help a lot. Thanks in advance.

And thank you for always respecting my boundaries. And thanking me for asserting mine. It's a basic thing, but as someone who's gone so long without... I can't tell you how important it is to have support from someone I trust.

#open letter #rant #feelings #alterous #aromantic #companionship #queerplatonic affection #lgbtq #queer #lesbian #agender #non binary

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