Dear Anonymous,
What we did together evokes so much emotion in my already bloated head - it makes me hurt nearly past feeling, but at the same time I can still think. And when I think—when I let my mind roam as far as it can reach—I see a balance at the end of my road. All of the people around me—everyone I know—are so, so young – our social maturity as it stands reflects in everything. I imagine decades from now how these same people will be – how their lives were carved, how they took it, what they became, and what wisdom they gained. A long, long, long time from now places around the internet will have old people who aren't anywhere near technologically illiterate – elders who may in fact still withhold more than their younger cohorts in the experience and wisdom they lack. What we shared between us two was something I was content with in every way, and I don't understand why it had to fly away. The thing I realized about the road ahead is that it creates a balance completely inverse of what we have now: instead of life bursting at the seams and being surrounded by a hardly variable relativity of naivety, we will exist in our old age with so much love and life laid to waste before us, accompanied by a heresofar unobtainable level of wisdom and understanding as a counter. When I found you there was no thought in my mind you'd be as suitable as you were – I recall no obstacles that we didn't cross together, hands held and shoulders touched. It was a piece of my life that is a stab to lose; I had so much power and control over you, and was finally happy with myself at how I handled that privilege and responsibility. I set out to take care of you, to protect you, and to be in charge with our common welfare in hand. It was proof that I wasn't a rotten piece of garbage being laid away to make more garbage out of himself – it affirmed to me that I was something worthwhile, and more than worth having, which is what I've lusted for since before I can even recollect. Acceptance as a human being you did provide, dear Wildflower; it's crushing to have that dismantled. I wanted to share that sky high palace of pain and wisdom with you – to grow very, very old with you in an unbreakable union. That was so perfect for me; the promises I made to bring you up gave me something to look ahead to, and something to work towards. I felt selflessly and nobly motivated and glistening with happiness inside over it, my own Wildflower. Remember when you told me that I melted that icy heart of yours? You burned away the ego in me. Your being moved me to work in want to do something for others purely out of a rewarding feeling of selflessness – something I haven't ever had before. When you told me you couldn't handle your lack of return for the comfort I provided you, know this: you too gave me something I didn't and couldn't give as much of… worth and hope. When I look at other relationships, and how they functioned and didn't, I see nothing a shred close to the perfection we held. We both loved each other, me writing to you that I'd part with you if you did… we didn't fight each other, ever. We talked every single day for an entire three months. There wasn't a computer break I caught when I didn't check on you. We got along so well in interests, with your knowledge of politics and humor, and how you act like a fountain of knowledge like I did a long time ago. We were made together for each other to want – I don't remember a single conflict in preference between us for love. You didn't mind at all being in submission for me, and the things I'd say to you that would entice you I would've thought would push any other woman away. I… I stopped breathing at the thought of you committing suicide, nearly fainting. When did we ever clash, fight, argue, or even firmly disagree? I can't recall. I don't remember. Maybe I just forget, even though I don't want to. Is that bad? That I forget bits of you until you're gone? What if you die, and I'd never know in conscience? Though I'd feel you in spirit I'd never get to say goodbye, and I'd be lost without anything other than some sort of binary string on a metal platter proving we talked for the time we did. I'm really afraid that somehow, in some way you're trapped, and I'm helpless to save you. I fear so much that you're stuck in your own prison, and are helpless from yourself. What can I do but try you on and off, my precious Wildflower? How can I do anything but try you, in hopes that you even have ears? Can you even hear me?
