A letter I will never send
dear,
i do not know if i will send this letter but i will at least type it out. i feel like i still owe you a typewritten letter, like the other one did not count because the ink was so faint. i did not know that i had extra ribbons in my desk drawer and i could have easily had nice fresh ink on paper. i apologise in advance for the grammatical and spelling mistakes that you will be able to spot much more easily with this dark ink. i am too fearful to figure out how to use caps lock and apostrophes on this typewriter but this beautiful paper is begging for some decorum. i apologise for that too.
i hope you are safe and healthy. you have done this a few times so you must be familiar with the feeling but it is the strangest thing in the world to go from that to this. from knowing to hoping. time has made me familiar with it but now that i am trying to find something to say, to ask, the strangeness of it feels new again. i did not have to try before. i hope that you do not doubt my saying that i hope you are happy, too. you could hurt me in a million different ways and i think i would still hope you are happy. because i have seen enough of you to know you deserve it. you deserve to be happy.
there was a long time when i wanted us to be one of the best things that happened to you. it would have meant so much to me because, well you know. so i hoped and wished and dreamt. i distinctly remember a message i sent on slack in 2023. i had read your blog and life moved so quickly and it made me see how big life is and how small i was, how small we all were. i shared how sad it made me feel to imagine that i would probably be another passing guest in your big life. and then you assured us that i would not be another passing guest. so i guess by well you know, i mean life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering and it is all over much too soon. like that guy said, and i felt. but i no longer hope or wish or dream of it. superlatives age like milk. rather, it is nice to forget, and then feel the novelty of an old memory. and to inspire that.
warmly,
zaina