letters to someone out there

dear____,

I’m slowly letting go. Is that good or bad?

Sincerely,

Oscar Wilde

dear____,

February. I am trying think of what it means. What it meant for us. February means that the summer is drawing closer to us. I am full of hopes that we will see each other. Because if we don’t, any time after summer will be too late. And we would lose each other indefinitely.

But other than this, February also means it is getting warmer each day and I am a little bit closer to becoming a semi-adult. I wish I could be a child again, because dreaming of becoming an adult is way more fun than dreaming of becoming a child again. Because you know the first will happen eventually, while the latter won’t.

Dreams are meant to come true. I wish you never told me that.

Oscar Wilde

dear____,

Past
Present
Future

Where are we?

Oscar Wilde

dear____,

you know how much I miss you. I know you know it.

What I am afraid of is that I don’t even cross your mind.

Oscar Wilde

dear____,

I went to bed at six thirty this morning. I woke up only four hours later but I am feeling just fine.

I had a dream about you.

Oscar Wilde

dear____,

tonight I stayed at home in our living room, drinking wine. And for the first time in many weeks I was reminded of the night you held my hand under a pillow.

Will you do it again?

Soon?

Oscar Wilde

dear____,

You’re Still a Friend of Mine. There’s nothing you can do about it.

Oscar Wilde

dear____,

I wished you were there with me at the beginning of this year. But you weren’t and I had to let it go. I hope you’re having a great time back at home. I haven’t heard from you in a while. I miss you all the more.

Happy New Year.

Oscar Wilde

dear____,

I’ve finished reading another Kundera’s book. During the entire time of reading I thought of you. Maybe because you’re in the Czech Republic at the moment. Or I don’t know.

Merry Christmas.

Oscar Wilde

dear____,

It’s Monday today. Which means.. I don’t know what it means.

It’s last Monday before Christmas. Before the Christmas, which I will be spending without you. Without you, without your family, without the tree, without the dinner, without sweets and cookies, without songs, without snow, without you.

If all these things will be missing, what kind of a Christmas am I going to have?

I am so sad this morning I almost can’t breathe.

Oscar Wilde