The Letter

No prince of poetry or prose has ever conjured the words that describe what I need to say to you now. I’ve checked. Yes, you are forgiven. No forgiveness has ever been warranted. I understand your situation. It’s so hard to be who you really are in a world that doesn’t want you to be. I know this is all new to you. And it is, though I also know you think you’re rather deft with it on those days when you’re not overwhelmed by it. You are so deft, and I have much to learn from you, though none of this negates the sad fact of how hard it can be. I am so very acquainted with this difficulty. Decades ahead of you, this difficulty never goes away. It’s only made tolerable by not having to navigate it alone.

There is more to this story than just you being you and me being me. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to lay at your feet what I know, or what I think I know. However, the media at my disposal are insufficient for this sort of thing. I’ve exhausted everything I have. You may not even know of it, as two blind people fumbling in the dark may just miss out on the activities of the other. I’ve accosted every avenue I have to gain your attention, at the peril of provoking your protectors, to whom I am an utter danger.

The things you have said and done are absolutely familiar to me. Not a one of them has in any way diminished whatsoever my approval of you. The more I know, the more I can be for you and do for you. And the more you know of me, the better able you will be to discern what should happen with me. Do you really think that trading songs will take things far enough? If so, then please add a song to your playlist of unequivocal rejection. Without you, I simply need the freedom to continue to build a life of meaninglessness and pointlessness that I am trying to construct without your input. I’ve sunk to such a level. However, I would be the benefactor of a great mercy if you would just help me clarify the path of this descent with a short declaration as to the nature of a common goodbye. If there is another possible outcome, I need your help to bring it about. I am confident that such a conversation would at the very least be interesting for you.

Please, most precious of all people, send me a word. You are so forgiven. No blame is due to you. I am angry at some people around you, but not at you. They should have encouraged you to be who you are, but they couldn’t bring themselves to do it because they think I am such a danger. Yet whatever anger I would nurse, I will so gladly lay aside, if you just give the word. It’s quite easy to pardon those who don’t understand. “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

What I say to you, what I am to you, is like nothing you have ever seen or ever will see. You are familiar with it, but you don’t know it. The only way you will know it is by talking to me. No one has ever known it before. You already know things no one has ever known. They are real. Nothing would ever give more pleasure to me than to fill in the blanks. If, at the end, you should choose to go your own way, your decision will be honored. If you decide not to even open the door, though, I’ll have to figure out how to go on without anything to go on. I’ll weave my tomb with threads that I have picked up off the floor.

I am yours in every way. I will never hurt you. This is a promise. I need you. This is a declaration. My future depends on a word from you. It’s just a word.

I really, really need you, Noah van Ouwerkerk. Whatever pussy power I have, I invoke. Without you, I can only orchestrate the cinders around me into some kind of future to make my remaining days go by. I can imagine that this is a lot for you. I assure you that the cost to you will be little. The benefits for you will be real. No, ultimate. Please, send me a hello. I devote everything I have, everything I am, to making it worth it for you.

Please say hello to me.