WARNING! too personal! proceed at your own risk
written May 2023
A Letter I'll Never Send
Dear D,
As I'm sat here, creating a website, browsing the ideas of others for inspiration, I think of the days when you would tell me about your project ideas. Maybe you only needed a listening ear, I don't know if they were ideas meant for me or if they were ideas meant for the empty space that I happened to be taking up in front of you. Either way, I wonder now if you ever did end up creating those sites to house your stories. Every line of simplistic, hope-infused, moronic, freeing, imprisoning line of code that I write makes me want to crawl back inside your brain and soak up all your knowledge so that we can share in the feeling of creation. I want to show you my ideas, a grown adult wanting to show off their creations like a kid showing off a stick-figure crayon drawing at the old age of six.
Truth be told, writing this makes me feel pathetic. Like I shouldn't need you. Like I want to run away, like you did so many times.
I don't think I knew you were running. I don't think you knew either. I suppose I was running too, but not for as long. Did you get tired? Are you too weary to begin the climb now? Have you ever had the strength? You created me and ran. Why do I have to be the one with the strength.
Do you tell your therapist about me? Or am I the ever unnamed daughter.
Haha. Funny joke. You were the one who named me. Named me after your favourite place in the world.
Am I in favour in your world?
The pit in my stomach begs me to say that this cannot be one-sided. How can you live without worrying about me like I worry about you, like I always have, my whole life.
I think I came out of the womb worrying. Selfish.
I know you aren't a machine, even if you work with them. I know you know how to speak the language of machines better than that of emotions, but I can't let myself believe that you're half a heart.
If I let myself believe that, that you my creator are walking around, split in two, then I have to admit that I myself am a half just as lost...
It's so strange. If I look at it from above, I moved across the damn world just to get away from you and I'm more worried than ever. Blame it on those lousy human machinations I suppose. Throw me away and buy me new code (pills).
Am I too someday going to birth a half of a heart, destined to wander the earth running far away from me, as I run just as fast in the opposite direction? Will we ever meet in the middle? I truly don't think I have the strength to find out.
This isn't why I began this letter. I began with the intent to say hello. To ask you how you are and tell you that I miss you. Instead I wallowed in self pity and accusatory deflection. It's rather a self fulfilling prophecy we keep seeming to run up against, you and I, isn't it?
Regards,
Cat