This is the perfect time to be sitting in our apartment reading old letters I wrote to you, back in the day
#When I was in mechina
#When I was overwhelmingly happy, digested by Nature
#And overwhelmingly in love (I am still)
#When you were learning about me, when I told you new things about me
#I was new and interesting
#You were perfect to me (you still are)
Now i'm reading these letters and they were so wonderful, so beautiful.
I'm different, a little.
I wrote just as well back then (maybe even better), but I was probably happier, like you said.
Times now when I sit and you tell me truths that are sad about me, and I feel distanced but so, so frekishly close. That for a moment I feel like crying and the next I want to get so, so close, to be one being with you, so in love, so fucking LOVING.
Now there are sometimes gray moments of myself, aside the pink ones with you.
The image of you is slightly different now, but still in my brain I associate you with the Once Gilad, who is actually the same, and just as amazing, but a little different.
But the thing is, I can't explain exactly what the image is.
I'll just leave it in my brain, for now.