Archive of Our Own

I'm writing this in the midst of turbulence and tears.

To someone:

I hate you. Truly. Deeply.

My stomach was invaded by sudden weightlessness.

My organs dragged, then slammed back into this shell. 

You wouldn't know this feeling, would you?

This undignified unraveling,

This kind of humiliation.

No, you've always stood above such things.

Flight attendants scrambled to hand out papers and pens, urging us to write what might be our last words. 

These pages will be sealed inside a specially crafted container, in the hope they might be found—someday.

-Like a black box?

-Like a black box.

I've never been fond of waiting. Yet waiting seems my fate. With you, I've always been the one trapped waiting. 

Now, at the edge of my life, I'm done waiting. 

If this plane crashes in flames or into the ocean, let this letter go with it.

It is a letter never to be sent.

So I may speak my heart freely.

At the brink of death, perhaps at last, I might glimpse the mirror of my truest self.

The longing to "see my true self" -even that was sown by you. 

Before you, I was simply me. I had no need to define myself, nor weigh my desires. 

I existed as I was- I was whole. 

But you…you muddled the very ground of my being.

Your poisoned ideas seeped into my skin. Your gaze, your absurd acts-

You are so vividly yourself.

And I…

I began to blur.

Unbelievable how I pour out these meaningless words while surrounded by sobs and whispers of despair.

Meaning…

What is "meaning" to you?

You— imprisoned, yet I am the one feeling caged in.

You are stirring my urge to break free. 

Your lips, soft. Your breath, a quiet fever.

You smile without mercy, and in your eyes lies a cruel distance, as if you stand apart from all. 

You never stooped to conceal,

you were inciting me—

I was incited.

I started think about "meaning"

I've seen too much of reality—

all of it echoing what you once saw.

As if I'm retracing your steps.

To the eyes behind the camera, I'm already wading into your swamp;

I'm soaking myself in gasoline;

I will strike a match.

Though we are divided by iron bars, your will pierces through everything,

proclaiming to the world your legacy—

I'll be the next mad soul stirring up waves.

I'll be the next you.

They read into my every move, and somehow, at the end of it all, 

it is always you.

My thoughts are a mess. What was I trying to say?

Oh-right. 

Meaning.

I didn't use to care for it. I listened to facts, lived through facts, recorded facts.

Beyond that, I understood once you lace facts with meaning, it grows veils—layer upon layer—until truth is lost in the folds. 

Anyone may wear this veil of meaning, beneath its cover, everything finds an excuse.

Being obsessed with expounding meaning, I once deemed it cunning, and foolish as well.

Yet now I too have slipped into this cunning, foolish snare.

To escape from this snare, I began asking myself. 

I asked, what do you want? 

No, No-I mean, I asked myself, what do I want?

If nothing had gone wrong, tomorrow we would have met.

After our last meeting, I was warned.

Bystanders had seen it long before I did—

that I had fallen into your web.

They were grave. 

But I- 

I thought, they would never understand me.

Now I realize-

Back then I had placed you and me on the same side of the line. 

I believed that, just as they had never understood you, 

they would never truly understand me either.

I never changed, 

I know I have never changed.

If I have not changed, then what has?

That night, I stood alone on the rooftop. All was quiet around me, soft moonlight draped over my shoulders. 

I smoked, sparks flickering in the gentle breeze.

In the cool night wind, I lifted my gaze to the moon. 

The moon cared for nothing below. 

I stood in the deep night; behind me was everlasting darkness. 

And you— you were right behind me,

you were in that darkness.

I stood all night.

…

I've written too much…

I should have returned earlier. 

Every time I face you, I find myself needing to prepare so much. 

Because you never stayed still, not even for a breath.

You never stayed where the world expected you to be.

I thought I'd stay away this time. 

The ticket had been booked for weeks, yet I didn't mean to use it.

But when morning came and I woke, I placed my palm on my chest—

my heart was beating, steady and unyielding.

Whether I longed to live or to die.

In the end I boarded this plane.

It carries me toward death.

It carries me toward you.

By the time you wake, I imagine the waves upon the sea will have stilled.

…

Will you know solitude?

…

The broadcast is playing. I'll leave it here.

Farewell, *.