Dear David, dear:
Apologies for leaving you so suddenly. I had to take care of the future cliché that is “unfinished business” (a.k.a. “I got an email from work”). In fact, I don’t know why I suddenly have a lot to say to you when I have a week-full of work from the office. But I will come back for you (I really want to).
By the time you’ve found the privacy to focus on reading this letter, you will be seated in a train. I don’t have the faintest idea why you would choose to be in a train—because I know you have other options, but by the time you read this letter I know you will be in a train because, uhm, I checked? I have a time machine, remember? I hope you don’t find that creepy.
And by the time you’ve reached this paragraph you’ve just looked up from your letter to look for me on train, but I’ve jumped back into the Pink Lemon Time Machine by then. You missed me.
I have a time machine, but I can’t read your mind. But I truly hope it’s just because you genuinely like trains, because I like trains a lot too. And we should go on train rides together when I return.
Anyhoo: While I searched around space and time to find the moment you finally read this letter, just to be sure you ever do, I may or may not have seen you with that man. The one with the butt? Who left through your window in a GIF on Tumblr? He seems nice. Sorry I peaked (and looked on longer than I should have). I couldn’t help it. I like seeing you together, you’re very hot together.
I best go now because my hand
aches is sore (no, not from an illness… I’m perfectly healthy. I have no illnesses). I’m just not accustomed to this much handwriting. We don’t do this very often in the future, you see. The last time my hand’s ached this bad was when I took my last written exam, the 2012 UN YPP (I was writing for FOUR hours non-stop, David, and those fuckers STILL wouldn’t give me the job).
See, in the future, we type. Sometimes just with our thumbs and sometimes with all 10 (you’ll see when I finally bring you here). Some people, like me, type faster than they think and they press the send button before they have a chance to reconsider. And then they regret what they said and never mind. I’ll explain that to you later.
I know you feel miserable, but believe me, once I take you to the future, you’ll feel so much more grateful for what you have now.
There’ll be all sorts of inventions meant to be “conveniences”. But they’re not, really.
Technology: You end up paying a larger price than was worth for them. You lose your peace of mind. You worry about people surveilling you.
They watch you, you know. And they find all sorts of justifications to watch you. And it’s just so unjust.
Then there’s the problem of not being afforded the time to decide whether to make a letter an unsent one. That walk to the post office (or mailbox, if you’re feeling too introverted to deal with the post staff) where you walk and breathe-in fresh air, and think to yourself, “life is so wonderful, so why am I being such a bitch sending these awful, hurtful words to another human being?” And then you decide to pay a visit to the ice cream shop instead and sit on a bench and lick your ice cream and, when you’ve arrived home, rewrite your response: A kinder letter with kinder words.
I never had that. I have more regrets in life than I could ever handle.
In a few years’ time, a man named J.D. Salinger will write for one of his many angry, confused characters, “I like to ride in trains too much. You never get to sit next to the window anymore when you’re married.”
When I take you to the future, there’ll be this television show (in colour) called “Mad Men” that’s about the future. And there’ll be a scene where a girl named Joan will tell a Peggy, “don’t get overwhelmed by all the technology” and I’ll crack up, but you won’t get what’s so funny (don’t worry, you’ll get a hold of “typing” with your thumbs in no time). And then we’ll watch this film called “Skyfall” and you will get a hard-on while I cry and cry and cry. And when that happens, please don’t ask me why, because I won’t want to talk about it.
Just hold me. (Actually it wasn’t necessary for me to ask you to hold me, you’d do it anyway.) Just do what you were going to do on your own initiative (except for the asking why part). Because I like what you do to me, and I will never need to ask for it because you’re a good man. You’ll know what to do. You always do. And I have too many regrets.
I’ll let you marry me under the condition that we sit face-to-face during train rides, across each other, so we can both have window seats. I know that when you eventually ask, it won’t even occur to you (I checked). Sorry, I check everything. I’m not fond of surprises. I must be getting old, because I used to really like surprises. Now they just tire me.
In the ’60s, there’ll be a band called The Beatles, and they sing songs about the ridiculously-overly-romanticized-notion of people loving each other until they’re 64. But please listen to them anyway despite it being bullpoop, and I promise I’ll die before then, before you reach that point when you eventually stop loving me. In fact I’ll make sure of it. I’ll die for you when you love me the most so that you’ll love me forever. But not just with me, I want you to always be in love. I want for you to be in a constant state of being in love. It’s the way I want you to always be in. Falling out of love with people actually really hurts. Who knew? I don’t want you to feel that hurt the way I have. You’re too precious for something that unpleasant, and I just don’t want you to experience it.
EDIT [05/17/2014] VIA TIME MACHINE: I’ll send you back to be with the man in your room before I die so you can be with him. Because I love you. ♥
Men are like wine, and women are like raisins. Is that distasteful and sexist? It only is if it’s the acknowledged truth. Not everyone is a fan of the truth.
I do not intend to overstay my welcome, I don’t like putting myself in humiliating situations (except at auditions). I will leave you before you have a chance to fall out of love with me. Weapons of the future are much more efficient, but they can also be incredibly cowardly. It’s almost impossible to make an honourable kill nowadays. I’m not fond of firearms when they’re used to kill others. But at the end of the day, they’re better than a bamboo katana.
I’ll come back for you, David. And I’ll make sure you’ll never go to your desperate-for-a-friend-because-I’ve-been-ostracized phase with Hitler. You’ll never befriend Hitler, so don’t you come anywhere near him while I’m away! I warn you. When we arrive to the future you will see why and you’ll understand (it’s for your own good). And trust me, if you take my advice, you will be remembered fondly.
I understand. It’s like when that time in 10th grade when the drummer/basketball captain 12th grader liked me. He had a girlfriend in boarding school that—HONEST TO GOD—I didn’t know about! Suddenly, the entire classes of 11th and 12th graders declared me a public enemy (as if I didn’t have enough people hating me for being in the advanced class). I was 15. I couldn’t breathe in peace until the entire two classes above me graduated. But that’s no reason to befriend Hitler.
One grows-up and gets used to the isolation, David. Remember: Stay away from Hitler. Do not befriend him. He is not your friend. Promise me that.
Okay, now my hand REALLY hurts!
-Peppy Wabbit a.k.a. M
(Maybe you will be the first to know my real name.)
PS: You look miserable and confused in the train. I wish I could kiss you, but you’re kind of cuter when you look misweble, so I won’t.
PPS: I can’t swim.