Dear ....,I've been writing to you more than I thought and I almost stopped addressing . via Facebook [after sending you the first emails or a little before that; before we didn't speak much; of course it's just me who says things] but I did tonight because of how I've been lately (for too long, but more so the last few days) [with headaches, body pain, dizziness...] (It was worrying). (I'm tired of being strong. I don't want you to worry since I'M STRONG but it feels great to say that I'm also not and be as vulnerable and fragile as I also am and want and need to be now.)
I started writing this at midnight.
that was the email of the other night, now I'm back here; I felt quite happy (always in awe of beauty) when I landed, I guess I like England, and, although I totally adore and miss Austria and Vienna is my favorite place, I'm a homeless person in transit and it's shower time (now) [or it was before I decided to lay down to have a chat]. Delicious food everywhere, less so in my hometown, and in Spain (not so much of what I like there, not yet). The main reason I've been feeling so desperate was the homelessness: I still can't be okay without a place (not my heart) I can call my own, a home (it doesn't matter how temporary) and the pressure to leave my current situation, when my mother and her house are unappealing and I'd feel like a refugee in case of a hypothetical rescue from someone, made for a hopeless (dream of) reality. So for quite a bit, and particularly last Thursday, I've been wishing for a plane crash or sickness, and I'm sure you didn't need me to confirm you this, or that I look forward to the present (future): unopened as that's its form. You know I don't want to, or even die at all (or of loving too much).