Dear F,
You would think that possession would be frightening, but I can tell you first hand that it’s not. It’s 2am and you just sent me a video of you changing the colour of the lights in your room so that they wouldn’t match mine, because we’re bantering each other just for the fun of it. What a fucked up thing to do, pretend to have issues. But I don’t even remember the video now. I only remember what echoed and ravaged through my cold and frail physical being for just a second. Your laugh. You’ve long forgotten the three second video you sent me in the dead of night, but to me the seconds felt as though the seasons were changing around us. They say mind control isn’t real but then how could a single sound soothe each and every problem I’ve never even had. You don’t sound like hypnotizing songbirds or whatever cheesy millionaires want people to believe love sounds like. You only sound like you. Love sounds like you. I know it does because you could have told me to do anything in that moment and I would have dived head first into hell with you. Maybe it was because you sounded so real in that moment. You’re really cute when you’re real. Which I think says a lot about you. Or maybe it says a lot about me. I think there must be something to say about how you’ve spent your life and you’ll probably spend your future, being people you aren’t. You have a passion for it. Yet no matter all the beauty queens, gothic loners, and prissy rich kids you dress up as, even though they have far more interesting backstories and personalities than you, I think your own character is my favourite. They might make me swoon over their looks and crave an adventure into the unknown with them, but they can’t make me fall apart like you. I think that’s what I’m trying to say. How you’re not a Van Gogh creation that’s been studied and analyzed by millions, with a story behind them and a written date of when they became complete. When I look at you I see an abstract. I see something that might not have been ready to be dragged out of the studio and seen by others, but we’ll never really know for sure. Something that you can’t pick apart and describe with certainty. Something that might blend in with other masterpieces of its genre, but still has its boldness and differences. When I look at you I can’t help but stare. I can’t help but have a million thoughts rushing through my head. I can’t stop myself from saying stupid things around you, because I’m trying too hard to understand you. So I guess I might be stupid for letting one little sound override every sense and coherent thought in my body and my soul. Anyone would if they were met with your blessed creation. You are a work of art that was hand-crafted by Aphrodite herself.
and you have a nice laugh.
I love you.
-ip