Tuesday, June 15
Dear Andrea,
When I was a kid, I used to practice Not Needing. Like, I wouldn’t eat for 24 hours, just to prove I could. Or I would not sleep, staying up two nights in a row. School would feel very strange. The floor tiles shimmered like a mirage, I was always a step ahead or behind, out of sync with the plan in a way that revealed how inconsequential it all was. Or I would not talk for a day, practice no eye contact, make myself invisible. When we lived in Tucson I turned off the A/C window unit in my room, in August, and let the full heat of the day fill the room and swell, brutally honest. First the sweat just, like, gleamed its way out of me, and then it rolled down my shirtless boy body. All I’m saying is, I was good at it. I’ve been good at it.
I never wanted someone to need me until I met you, who doesn’t. Maybe I want it because you don’t. There have been times when I think you do. But they’re rare. More often, you’re deep inside yourself. Always opening your notebooks to draw or write, or to look at things you already drew or wrote, endlessly researching yourself as if there were a mystery to solve. I can’t solve it.
All I can hope is that now that I’ve been gone five days, six, you’ve realized you do need
Christ, I can never send this to you.