For the Ghouls.

I went to the hidden bench where we sat on our date. We had walked there by a cold night.

It was sweet and simple. I remember. Sometime we were silent. It became clear it was alright to not fill every second of our time together with words that weren’t the best of our words, the prettiest of our thoughts. I felt okay next to you. I felt safe.

Only me held myself from telling you this right away, like it is something you’re not suppose to say.

In a world where I would have been more confident, I would have looked at you – no hesitation – I would have held you in my arms.

I would have said “Can we stay like that a little longer? Can I take you home?
Your mind, your body, your are beautiful. It’s okay if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t think less of you.”

Later when we had resumed our walk, at one point, we stopped for no apparent reason on a corner. We stayed there a while.

It gave me a vertigo to stand so close to you.

What if we had let each other to follow the paths we would have felt like following together? That night. What if.
I guess, that’s what we did. We’ve been doing just that. We now stand exactly where we granted each other’s permission to stand. It doesn’t go so accordingly to the lie though.

Otherwise we would have worked things differently.
I hope you’re well. I don’t really know you, I didn’t get that chance, but I mean to say that I care for you.
It’s a thing I’ve got to offer, care, to care for those I encounter even if the relationship becomes dull, ackward, unrequited, done… To still care. In the light of the brief moment of sweetness we spent together, isn’t it the only response to give?

I hope you are well,

Yours truly

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