That I am still not over him.
Last year I met a boy, or actually I met a man. He acted like a boy but he looked like a man. Tall, dark and handsome, with a full beard mustache and dark, serious brown eyes. He talked like the business management consultant that he is, and he walked like it too. He dressed like the upper class he wanted to belong to and his demeanour in public reflected this. But when we were alone he forgot about this. Or at least I believe he did. When we were alone he was a boy. And what a silly boy. When we were alone he forgot to be serious and so did I. When we were alone he told silly jokes and laughed out loud. When we were alone he tried to impress me and I him.
But the serious man did not want the silly me. The social climber deemed me unworthy. And so it ended. But the trouble is, I am still not over him. The trouble is it might never get over him. Trouble is I see straight through him and everything I see is everything I want. But I cannot have him, and I probably never will. Trouble is I cannot accept this and still have hope. Trouble is I keep writing these letters.
And so I have decided to leave this place. Because this place remind me of him, and in this place I keep searching for him. In the faces of strangers and in the walks of men in the far distance. So I will go to an Island far away, where the land never ends, and where I cannot look for him. Where my letters will have no purpose and my longing no object. When I leave I will visit Greenland. When I visit Greenland I will be away. When I am away he is not near, and when he is not near I will forget him.
In the forgetting lies my freedom, and there my chance to come back to myself. And myself have not been present. There has been only him and no me. There has been only desire and no presence. My future has had one outlook. Him. And not me.