fitzgerald loves bates

i am drunk on the idea of you. i read things and want to study them with you. to go back in time, to be born on a different day, to experience things *with* you instead of either before or after you. i want so badly to be your peer, and i am not.

depending on the circumstances, you are either so far ahead of me i can barely make out your shape on the horizon, or behind me to a point where- by the time my words travel from my mouth to your ears the pressure waves that make up the sound of my words have decayed to a point that they no longer carry the same information. i can't reach you.

i really desire in a true way to understand you. and have you understand me. and it seems like the one thing we can't do. but i know you really cared about me, and i hope you know that i really, truly care about you. the rest is details, and this time i think the details matter. but i love you in a way that can't and won't be repeated. there will never be another you to me.