A Love Story by Kishchynska Kateryna

I get fed up with my own thoughts,

so I sit down to write to you. An email seems somewhat appropriate. I start with an introduction because that’s polite, and I really want you to think I’m polite. I state that I am not a stalker, at least not by my own choice. Now, the intention behind this message. How the hell do I put this into words?  

What is my intention? It’s not that I demand you get to know me or  become my soulmate. It’s just I keep crossing passes with you and I feel like I am the only one noticing, and it drives me insane. Right, so acknowledgment, acknowledgment is my intention. I continue. I guess I’ll start at the start. I think I first saw you in middle school on one of the debate teams on that competition we had. Our teams didn’t compete because mine lost early on. That time I barely noticed your existence, nothing personal, you are just not my type. From a first glance. 

A second time was in a supermarket. Might have not been you thought, someone similar-looking, but they bought this really disgusting orange candy (Citrcus Dribbles?) and years later I saw you again chewing on that same candy. I suspect you are the only person in the whole world who enjoys it. Anyway, I was very drunk for the very first time. It was not a good look on me, a tutu and vomit stains were involved. You or someone similar-looking was nice to me by not letting me break my face when I slipped on a freshly cleaned supermarket floor. 

The next time we appear in the same place at the same time is when I volunteered at my uni to help with the admissions committee. You came with a lovely girl, the whole time she was constantly looking through her documents and sweating. This was the first time I really thought about you. Like the fact that you are a person. I remembered I almost met you before. You seemed calm, a little bored. You affectionately shook the girl before she got to a table with one of the committee members. She did look a bit more collected after that. 

And then there were quite a lot of times. At a farm market. At that great exhibition that was in the Central Gallery. At the Honeyflies concert. On the other side of the rally. At the beach in Italy. Walked past you on the street a few times. Even saw you making out with some punk at the bar (good taste). And then you came across on social media in “recommended”. Isn’t much on there, but I can’t avoid making assumptions. From all of it. I imagine what kind of person you are. 

Maybe I shouldn’t write that, I sound like a crazy stalker. 

It’s true though. I am not obsessed. But I like paying attention to details and making up scenarios. At first, it was like a fun game, figuring you out. I assume since we often appear in the same place in such a big city, in such an enormous world, we have a lot in common, like tastes in art and favourite paths to go around. I also know that you like that awful candy and big boots, that you are a cat person, who isn’t good at posting on Instagram or swimming. You aren’t very attentive to your surroundings, but you have a special concentrated stare for when something fascinates you. I bet you are a master in your craft. You look awkward and shy around strangers. 

Fun and caring around old friends.  

I found myself filling in the gaps and imagine having conversations with you. Like the one I am having with you right now while writing, well, to you. In my imaginary conversations, you get me. You understand me. And then I imagine us having a good time together. Sometimes becoming friends, sometimes lovers. All those times I never saw you with a wedding ring, so it’s not so bad? 

Right?  

This isn’t the worst part. That I imagine you. It’s that I always imagine it ending badly. I can’t help it, you always die or leave or drive me insane at the end of my fantasies. That’s a thing to know about me: I always expect the worst. Still, this life with you that’s never happened is my coping mechanism. 

I guess I’m lying to you. My intention is not acknowledgment.  

My mother died a month ago. We had a complicated relationship. I am not coping as well as I thought, I assumed that I am strong and that I wouldn’t care. I was wrong and I am completely alone. Taking to you was comforting in dark times, but it is not enough now. So, my familiar stranger, I guess my intention is to find someone to save me. One of the things I do not know about you is whether you are a savior.