Oh meddling. It’s almost as satisfying to feel the word trickle off my tongue as it is to watch the tiny catalyst of intent spark a firework of reactions and feelings. I am a tinkerer, a tradesman who melds fantasy with reality until they form a single metal to meddle with. I should have a medal in meddling, a gold medallion that hangs from my neck, my albatross.

I’ve forced myself to sit here and type my fantasies onto a blank page rather than into a message to you. It would be impossible to keep these thoughts to myself, and since there are things that should remain unsaid, I’ll use this as a placeholder for all the things I can not be transparent about. I will repackage my thoughts into clever twists of tongue so that my hands and imagination will stay occupied while my heart steadies. Outside of my writing I have no other outlet for feelings I can’t act on.

But even here I’m stunted. The point of this exercise in restraint is to avoid stirring the pot, but even carefully coded allusions run the risk of being understood. I’m stuck. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to extract myself from these situations that I have to admit I had a hand in creating. I don’t know how to step back from feelings that have developed despite my better judgement. The feelings aren’t the issue so much, it’s the actions that follow, and the consequences thereafter.

There are a thousand things I want to explain to you here, but I won’t, because I’m trying to protect your feelings, my feelings, the feelings of someone you don’t even know is in the picture but is significant to me in ways I’ve never shared with you for various reasons. And, I want it to be clear that the “you” that I’m addressing exists in many forms at various points in this letter, and that I’m pointing that out to further obscure who they may be.

More than anything, I want you to know that I meddle when I’m reminded of something I want and can not have. It is the direct result of longing, of identifying a want and feeling powerless to claim it. I meddle because the instant gratification irrational behavior elicits reminds me what control feels like. Meddling is the cousin of chaos, chaos had long been a friend, but we had irreconcilable differences and agreed to part ways a while back. Still, something feels empty. I miss my friend, and I miss you.

I will not include the last part of this letter which was far too specific, but I’ll read it silently to myself and imagine you’ve heard it and understand. After all, this whole thing started as a fantasy, so the resolution can take place in my mind just as easily as it began. I won’t feel any better than I do now, but at least I won’t have to find out the real ending to a story I never thought I’d see come true.




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