[thisislife]

This was dropped in my ask box anonymously. I think it might be a response to this, but I’m not quite sure. In any case, I thought I’d post it up. Enjoy. (And thank you to Anonymous for taking the time to write.)

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you type an email to the future, like a time capsule detailing everything, everything you want her to know. [space]

when it becomes the most important thing that you lie to her, you start to believe in a certain purity, you start to become your lie, because it’s the only way it can succeed.

there are moments, like when the clock reads 00:00 and your collarbones are pained from playing solitaire on your elbow all night, that you doubt the worth of the lie, yourself, the self-assurance and positivity – it feels like unfounded optimism.

and you keep losing.

you throw up like her, but for different reasons. she has panic attacks when she’s sure you’re going to break up with her, but really that’s the last thing you want, and that’s why you live perched atop a shell of calcified drinks.

and even when you win, it doesn’t mean anything because you need to keep playing.

you lose again.

you send out an email, but not to her, to a service that will store it until the specified time and then deliver it to the recipient. this is just in case it all crashes down and you lose your footing in the swelling of the waves, so at least she can read it and have some proof, some visual evidence to help her try to convince herself you weren’t stringing her along all along, and yes, you do feel this, felt this, that’s why you have to lie… [space]

and if all is right, everything’s perfect, then it’s just vague enough to simply be a love letter from the past.