A letter from Nov 3rd, 2021

A letter from November 28th, 2020 Hello again, This one doesn't belong to the monthly letters, and I'm sending it to a close time in the future. I'm also making it public. Today marks four months since you returned from visiting home, two hemispheres over,and the pandemic is going strong. That means it has been four months since the last time you were hugged, when you said goodbye to your mother at the airport gate. Four months since you received any king of touch besides fistbumbs really. Who knew you were going to be this lonely when you came back? Well, you did, you were already pretty lonely before visiting home, but coming back alone and having your heart broken at the same day was traumatic. Yeah, **** that day. I've been talking to the walls about how I don't feel at home anywhere now. Either side of the Atlantic is 'home' when I'm not there, and when the plane lands, 'home' switches to where I left from. Or maybe it is just an idea my brain makes up, if we don't have a place to call home do we have anything at all? Writing these is a demand for rescue from the future, "please, someone tell me there is still hope! tell me the world doesn't turn into a lonely and sad place when we grow up! somebody give me hope to keep going or the courage to end it all". Most letters here are about hope, we can't talk about our own future without talking about our hopes. My room is cold, 13°C all day long. I haven't had a conversation with a person in weeks, I haven't looked someone in the eyes for much longer than that. If things turn out for the better in the upcoming months, yell. Yell hard and loud, so loud that I can hear you from here in the past. And if things turn out for the worse, know I'm here cheering for you. Know I feel just as lonely, just as deprived of connection and human touch. I wish I could reach out my hand through this screen and lay it in your shoulder... I'm so cold all the time. Life is always a little ****** everybody, and I don't doubt things will get worse. I don't know what I wanted to achieve writing this. It didn't make me feel any better. There's no insight to be had here, we exhausted every thought regarding loneliness long ago. You couldn't **** yourself in 2018, you can't do it now, and unless you sink to where you were back then, you won't do it in the future. Maybe that's all I hope for the future in this letter: that life doesn't beat you so much that you fall to where you were. Time to get up from the beating I just took from life, the one that made me write this. We've done it hundreds of times by now, literally. And you too, do it with me, together with all our iterations in time. If there's no one there to tell you this, know I love you very much my dear. Thank you for reading. Sent 5 months to the future from Nov 28th, 2020 to Apr 28th, 2021 (02/11/2021: just wanted to pass it along to the future, well, my future.)