Letters from those who are heartbroken no.2

I was thinking about you in the afternoon of the last day of the national examination. But along the way, I realized something odd about my thinking of you. So I wrote a letter for you that day, intending to make it my last for you.

13 February 2017

For someone who I once knew to be thoughtful,

bloody stupid
Photographed by Jerry Hsu: A Love Like Mine is Hard to Find
You know —now that my memory is growing ever so distant and you seem to be clearer in my mind, you were nowhere near special. You owned no distinctive features and you liked all sorts of different things that didn’t have a place in my heart. You also had a depressingly bad taste in music, which I hate and which I couldn’t do anything about. I also doubt you even read books. Now that I’m thinking of you after everything has passed, I wonder what the importance of our encounter was. There seemed to be no shared meaning, and it passed so easily. It was simply the type of encounter that you become hopeful of at first, and slowly notice how painfully deluded you were for ever thinking that way. And writing this today, at this moment that I’m listening to a playlist I made under your *name, I almost wish we had never met. It could have been easier on me, and I could have spared a few more space for other people in my heart. So if you asked me whether or not I “remember” you, I will tell you that I don’t. Because I have chosen not to, the same way you had chosen to.

—ztap.

Letters from those who are heartbroken no.1

I’ve been thinking about how I can tell you how much you actually mean to me. I have a feeling I can’t do that now though. Because all the while I know you, I’ve only known you from afar. So here’s a letter I wrote for you three weeks ago. A couple of days after I last saw you.

23 February 2017

For someone who I once knew to be thoughtful,

HER

I hope you’re no longer upset about the world, or about anything you were upset with in the beginning. If anything all I want for you is genuine love and care, and most importantly faith in God. I worry about you the same way I worry about my close friends, despite never meeting you as often. Though our encounter may no longer share a meaning, I will continue to hope that my small existence in the corner of your mind (or heart: whichever you like) allows you to remember that I was once there, and that you’re probably still in mine, right here: *pokes into my own heart*, along with many others.

—ztap.