A Letter to Self

Dear me,

You have grown old. You grew so much in Japan. The differences you noticed when you looked at your pictures from last night with the pictures of when you arrived, are not figments of your want. Those were real. So real that you do not understand. You cannot understand. Like what Mark said that night when you and Genya were hanging out in his room, the first 5 months seemed like everyone was still getting to know each other. Those five months for you were months of growing and changing and understanding the whole lot of done did things. And from now, it is just the pleasure of knowing that you are on this page, scribbled with so much that it begs to calm itself for you. And so from now, Mark and his all-British brotherly genius, stated the sadness of having known the people and trying so much to get as much into each of your relationships as you can. Time is running out. You barely noticed how fast the first half of your adventure flew by. Because for all you know, you might never ever see these people ever again. It will happen. Moscow is 14 time-zones away, Mark's little wee British house near the vicinity of the Prince's grand home which he never fails to mention,oh the British humor, is continents away. Prepare yourself. You think you have prepared yourself, but no, you haven't. They will become shadows of your past, as aptly sung by Valjean in the Attack on Rue Plumet.

That saggy neck you noticed that wasn't there before, you know what that means? You are paranoid.


Awkwardly yours,
Tall order