there is no US...

Things were already so good. The sun outside, the flowers blooming, the blue sky, the birds singing – the general joy in the air infected even me. I thought. About you… About me… About us, or rather, about the lack of us. Despite this, I was happy. Those were good days. What was cloudy and unwanted was left behind. From a sad and resigned pessimist, I became an eternal optimist. I began to care about life, about the people around me. Slowly, I began to believe in them. Allow them to get closer to me. Gradually, not too much, step by step. Each one small and perfectly measured. With a reserve to react if necessary. To put up a wall, hide behind it, cut myself off from the world, and return to my old thoughts. To dark thoughts, fears, constant worry, and lack of self-confidence. I didn't want this so much; this was my worst fear. I might not survive this…

A letter arrived. From you, with a photo of us. I was going to ask you for them, but I got them before I could. Coincidence, telepathy... call it what you will, I can't seem to find the right word for it... It was the best thing I could have received. For others, a simple photo, for me, a souvenir from a wonderful past. And then it all slowly started coming back...

Our evenings together. The letter attached to the photo said... "I remember our conversations..." and I think I'd rather forget some of them, or rather turn back time and erase them from my records. I'm afraid... truly, probably like never before in my life... Ridiculous. For some, I'm sure, but most are capable of opening up, not me. And that night I did. I told you a lot. Now it seems like too much. No one has ever gotten so close to me in such a short time. I forgot everything, and the wall I built for protection fell away, exposing me completely to you. It felt good then. It suited me; it felt natural. Now... now I feel threatened. I don't know why or why. I don't get any signals that I should be afraid. However, I've experienced so much unpleasantness in my life. So many times, people close to me did something that caused me to lose trust in them, and with it, part of myself. None of them has returned to me, and this void left by them can't be filled.

It hurts. During long, sleepless nights. Stars in the sky and a full moon, I lie in bed and reflect on myself and my life. All the memories come back. Most often, the unpleasant ones – because there are the most of them. I feel pain, deep in my soul – then I know I have it. I'm not just a creature without feelings – as it may seem. A mask. My second face, I wear it every day. Tough, always serious, a smile rarely appears on my face, but when I was next to you, it was there all the time. I miss you. Sometimes I suppress this desire… other times I can't. Thoughts appear in my head… The ones you condemn. I feel the urge to do something I shouldn't…

I know this is a selfish approach, but I can't think of any other way. Each of us is selfish. First, we'll save ourselves, then others. Altruism is just a facade to win friends. That's why I have so few. I'm afraid of people, I don't like opening up to them... I only did it to you, and I still don't know if it wasn't a mistake. I knew you'd leave, but I allowed you this closeness. I agreed to talk... and with each shot of vodka, it became easier for me to talk. To talk about my life, feelings, loves, romances, and failed relationships. The table lit only by the hallway light, a napkin soaked in alcohol and juice... cigarette smoke hanging in the air. Our laughter breaking the silence at night. It all happened so long ago, and it feels like yesterday. At first, I didn't want to talk, but your encouragement did the trick. Now you know practically everything about me, and I feel like a helpless, unwanted fetus, a tiny creature who has just begun to develop and who could soon lose its fragile life because it's unwanted...

I don't know how to react. How to respond to your signals. On the one hand, you promise a lot, but do little... Maybe there really is something preventing you from doing so, but you know: "where there's a will, there's a way." I know it's not as simple as it seems. I'm trying to understand. But it's hard for me. I feel cheated, left behind, as if I'm not receiving the whole truth from you. I hate this feeling—it leads to conflict, and that's how it was with us.

I couldn't stand it; I had to write those few words. Afterward, I was afraid I'd said too much, too harshly. Thoughts swirled in my head that made me believe you'd never speak to me again. I tried to exercise my willpower and not be the first to reach out. I didn't want to be the smart one. I never liked admitting I was wrong. Then – the sound of my cell phone snapped me out of my reverie. A text message. From you – short but meaningful. "Don't doubt me, I know you're a good person, I care deeply about our friendship..." I felt stupid that I hadn't reached out first. And I should have. I was ashamed. I replied. I know I'm impatient, that's your role in our arrangement. Maybe that's for the best... After that, I felt better and everything went back to normal, but now... I think things are starting to get worse again.

I'm not going to give up so easily, I won't think about it. It'll be hard, but maybe I'll succeed. I don't want to, I'm afraid to go through this again – I might not make it. To fall and never get back up. That would be a disaster, and I'm not and never have been prepared for it. I know I shouldn't doubt you, but I'm starting to do it again. This feeling seems stronger than me. Unbearably, with a manic persistence, it burrows into my mind, distracting me from other activities, preventing me from concentrating. Sometimes it spins out of control. I don't want this, I can't allow it – and there are too many scars on my body anyway. They disfigure me not only externally but also internally. My body stops hurting, but my mind doesn't. It makes itself felt all the time, it doesn't let me forget about you, about me... about us... or rather, about the lack of US...

I don't know if this is good or bad. I don't know how you'll react to what you find out. I'm afraid of your reaction. It's stupid, but when I get letters from you, I don't know whether to open them or not. I feel a tremendous anxiety inside me. It grows with every moment I stare at the envelope – at the address written in your handwriting. I'm a coward – I know, but I can't do otherwise. I've been plowing through life this way for a long time, somehow things work out, but only up to a point…

I can't overcome obstacles. For others, they're easy, for me they're a huge problem, an insurmountable barrier. I don't like ambiguities – they become the cause of arguments. I always speak clearly and directly – then life becomes easy. Now I feel like you're not telling me everything. Maybe it's nitpicking, but… That's the word that accompanies me most often. I'm searching for something in everything. Like a lost, chilled traveler, I long to find a warm, quiet corner to sleep. I'm looking for something that will quiet my conscience. Just like that. It will calm me down, allow me to forget, not worry about anything. To live simply, without worrying about anything. Ignoring what I said, which was too much…

I so desperately wish I wasn't afraid. To trust someone completely. I thought you were that person. You know I'm not afraid of you, I've entrusted you with many secrets. When I spoke of them, it was in accordance with my freedom; I knew what I was doing, who I was telling it to. It felt easier. To let go of it, to share it, to listen to what someone else thought about it. I wrote to you about it, about my fears, my insecurities, my reflection. I asked… I don't want to waste what's been built between us, I know you won't let me now, I want to trust you, to allow myself to do so. Without unnecessary questions or contemplations, but will I succeed… will you succeed, and will we succeed… But there's no US…