Hoping to Hear Your Voice

I received an unsolicited letter in 2019.

It came by email just before midnight around Christmas time.

Sometimes people write for closure, putting everything out there to explain some things and move on with their life. That letter was probably one of the most honest things I’ve read. Even though I don’t see or hear from its writer anymore, the random “butt dial” every few years is a reminder they still care, even if just a little.

They didn’t write to get a response. They just needed to get some things off their chest and left it at that.

Still, I’ve made some people feel like shit, unintentionally.

I’ve gotten to know people whose friends and family have told them I’m not good for them. Still, for whatever reason, they feel a connection, a gravitational pull from the soul. Relationships often defy reason and persist beyond logic.

Our histories can be complicated if you look back far enough. The stories that make us who we are, the family tales, the disputed lore passed down by those who came before us. Some don’t care much for the past. Some don’t have stories to tell.

Whatever is written or said about me, I hope it’s mostly good. I’m imperfect. I’ve said things I regret. I’ve asked questions I shouldn’t have. My tone can be sharp and my expression dismissive.

I’ve struggled with commitment. I’ve gaslit. I’ve been a hypocrite.

I self-destruct.

I love to win, but I don’t need the last word. I don’t like to argue. I will, though, to defend what I believe in. Even then, I’ve learned that sometimes it’s not worth it if you want to keep good people around.

I don’t intend to offend. There’s no way to know what someone has been through. It’s impossible to understand.

When you feel safe and comfortable with someone, there’s a compatibility there, a spark. They say vibes don’t lie. It’s only a feeling.

However much pain was caused, I know there’s gratitude somewhere on the other side, because at least the pain came from something real. Something that mattered.

I read that letter again recently, deep in my archives. I thought about what it meant back then and what it means now. Back then, I thought it was about me.

But it was never for me in the first place. Just like this isn’t for you. So stop thinking about it and get some fucking sleep.