A Letter to Masha

Dear Masha,

Every so often I hear a rumour about you. Uh. That's no way to start a letter. Hold on.

Dear Masha,

How are you doing? It seems like I haven't seen you in years. I guess I haven't really seen you in years. And the last time I did, you were... you seemed different. Maybe it was me. I know I hadn't seen you in a long time before then, too. I felt big and awkward, I kept running into stuff, stepping on toes, but it still felt like everything was so far away. I'm not trying to be a downer.

I don't think I can help it, though. If I'm going to say what I'm going to say, well, uh, yeah. It's a downer. But, like I said, every so often I hear a rumour about you, you're going to be in town, you were in town, you made an appearance at such-and-such; I never seem to see you, no one tells me -you don't tell me- when you're coming. Half the time when I'm out at a concert I feel like you're about to walk into the room, tap me on the shoulder, ask me to dance. You never do. It's starting to make me sick, this weird dread right before I leave the house, telling me, don't bother, you'll just get that feeling like you always do. After going to so many concerts with you, it just... and I really like going to shows, you know? Even shows you NEVER would have come to with me, I get this dread, this feeling.

We used to be close. I mean, not the closest close, not like... but you know what I'm saying. We both thought about it. I had people all the time telling me to go for it, thinking I already had, making these mistakes I had to awkwardly deflect. "No, I uh, I'm not, yeah, crazy huh." If I had, if I had really committed, would I still be seeing you? Would you follow me around? Would I be following you around? Either way, that sounds kinda pathetic. More than kinda. But I think, maybe, if you were close ever, I would drive three hours just to see you. Well, no, not just to see. I stand surrounded by people, sober people, drunk people, happy people, jaded people, and all I can think of is your arms around me, thousands of arms it seemed at times. You kicking me, pulling me, sweating all over me. I'd say, "Is that weird?" but I'm already pretty sure, yeah, that's weird. I can't tell other people about this, about how I feel about you, it makes them.... well, no, it makes ME feel uncomfortable. Even telling you, and you already know. You have to know. If you've forgotten....

If you've forgotten this already, I'm not sure if I do want to see you again. Is that why you seem different. You hang out with these kids, young kids, compared to me, and I hear them talk about you, and I think, "They don't know her. That doesn't sound like my Masha." But what if you have changed? I couldn't stand it. I'd do that thing, that horrible thing where I still would rush to see you, three hour drive, whatever, and I'd get there and spend the whole time wishing, wishing you were like you used to be.

We were so close at times. I remember hanging out, every weekend it seemed like. Basement concerts, dance halls, out in some dusty field, bandanas over mouths to keep the dirt out. This sounds strange writing it down, but it seemed perfect at the time. It was perfect at the time. You introduced me to so many people; I don't see them anymore either. I know you probably won't write me back. I miss you, Masha. I'll probably spend the rest of my life looking back at the time I spent with you, and that's horrible. But it beats forgetting. I keep writing, I'm out of things to say. I'll say it again. I miss you.

With love,
nteodntsunht