Cuba castrated

Dear dear,

Today you leave. Where to, I don’t exactly know. In some ways, I don’t think you know either. That’s why you are going. To leave this stew you have known, one that has grown old and stale and familiar.

I sometimes think about her cheating on me. I sometimes wonder if it was I at fault. The known responses. The expected patterns of behavior. The attempt at caring always. Kacper, I fucked a girl. It’s okay, I’m here. Kacper, I fucked a man. It’s okay, I’m here. Kacper, I’m fucked. It’s okay, it’s okay, hear hear.

I bring this up because while the analogy fails to recount the obvious personal failings of dusted-away disasters and incongruences of two bodies clapping together like sloppy pancakes after a play no one paid for and starring an actor that might be a janitor, sweeping across the stage, it is similar in its predictability. Each part was known. It was planned. All resulted in an action, a response, a worn, warm awareness that even in the aftermath, we sought it again.

You’ll have to come back, dear, to this extinct wreck that drowns you in you. You will have to revisit this place that has made you glazed-eyed and gutted. It slams you with its tiredness, its expected drama, its daily deadening. The buildings all look the same. The people like blurs.

When you do, they will still be here, still suffocating on smog and winter and complaining about how there is this new thing, you must try this new thing, it is a thing after all. And you’ll listen. And you’ll have hopes and ideas of this place again, renewed from Cuba and Nicaragua.

But do not have much. When there, do not forget this lead that x-rays through you, that sees into your bristling bones and that wants for more. This ability to act on such sleepiness is important. Not simply because it is a dream itself, but because you can move beyond such somnambulism. You walk. You close. And you will revitalize, reawaken, my love.

Try to write when you can. Not on email, but to yourself. Because in some way, that is what you lost here. Get you back to you one word by one word by one word. That is all there is anywhere, even, and especially, in you.

I cannot wait until you one day share a little bit of them with me. Until then, friend, have more than fun, get more than funky.

Love,

Kacper