Run Away with Me.

Hello,

I hope this post finds you in good health, as I do. The weather has been relatively unforgiving, with the feet-soaking thunderstorms and otherwise looming grey clouds haunting you with the possibility of unpleasant ride home. Both of my only beater pairs of shoes have already fallen victim to the harsh street puddles and asshole car drivers, and I wish this would not happen to you too. Take care of your sneakers and health, and eat well.

Speaking of eating, I found a new shop selling dumplings that you might like. It was a fairly old shop, but they started selling dumplings only recently. This might sound random or out of place, since we never talked about dumplings, but I figure you would always appreciate good food.

Alright, enough with the chit-chat. I know we don't always see eye-to-eye. I know there's always this unspoken boundary between us. I know you don't believe in my conviction. My dreams are not exactly what you call ideal, nor yours are what I call realistic. But on the middle ground, where we can holster our guns and sip from our flasks instead, I can see it in your eyes: something similar we both have been holding back to say.

Some might say it takes one to know one. I'm a person of subtlety, and as quizzes mesmerize me, I found enjoyment in deciphering how you speak in roundabout way. I would know, because sometimes that's what I like to do too. Some might say it's downright annoying, but probably I have too much spare time.

Empathy was never my strong suit, so I might not know how I can help and in which way it's best to do it. But discrepancy, on the other hand, is pretty fun to spot. The footshift, a moment's hesitation, a little glimmer in your eyes, the eyebrow twitch. The tone of curiosity. A bit of passed judgement. I might be wrong, though.

My problem was never yours, and vice versa. Our ways of coping might be different, but there are some cards we both lay bare on our poker table. The dealings of burial. The denials. Tell me, mon ami, when you were set out to bury the seed in your backyard, did you mean for it to be nurtured with water and rich soil, for it to grow into something big and sturdy, giving fruit and protection for your future legacy? Or did you mean to leave it out to die, to rot in between other junks already feets deep within, to be forgotten by time?

I've had my share of junk-filled backyard. Sometimes I wish I could just erase it all, delete the whole backyard and create new one, like in the game The Sims. Sometimes all I wish was to reset the whole game, make a new person, back to day one. I'm only less than a quarter century away, and I already have this gaping hole of regret gnawed out inside of me.

Ah I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make this ramble about myself yet again. My point is, at the current pace the junks are flowing in, I would no longer have a backyard soon. Mortgage is skyrocketing, houses with backyards are getting scarce, I'm selling, things are overwhelming, you know how it is. We talked about this once.

So here's my proposal: Pack your bag to a bare minimum. I will be waiting for you next Sunday at the local train station, 9.30 AM. I will give you an hour or two to decide whether you only want to see me away or buy the same ticket as I do.

See you. Or not.