January 17th, 2014
My dear and only parents,
I don't write letters very often. Actually, come to think of it, I have never really written a paper letter in my life, so it should be my first and, hopefully, the last letter which you'll receive from me.
But you must be asking yourself what has changed! Well, it's very hard to answer in a few words but there is no sacrifice I won't do for you and so, under the shimmering light of the only functioning lamp in our old house, shivering because of the cold November wind, I am starting my story.
First of all, I would like to wish you a long and happy life without me! There will be no one to wake you up at night to ask for 100 bucks or help with an almost university-level math problem. There will be no one to annoy you with endless stories about his school pals and what kind of music they listen or don't listen to. No one to start screaming, begging for a permission to go out at 11 p.m., and then, permission received, sit playing video games till 1 a.m., locked in his bathroom.
I hope you noticed that I left home.
Oh, I am sure you did, considering that just prior to that I said goodbye to each one of you and you even answered. Dad said something like: "And buy some vegetables, won’t you?" I am sorry I didn't answer back then. I was determined to leave and, you know what, those vegetables could have ruined every single thing I have planned out! As if Dad could not buy them himself, no seriously!
However, when I finally crossed the threshold of a place which had served me as a home for many years, I felt like I had done something terribly wrong and so I had to go get those green peas and carrots and leave them at the door along with this paper, which I really hope nobody will steal and which I finished writing on the stairs. The neighbors were really curious about what I was doing and whether we had a problem with our electricity that would force me to do my homework down here at midnight. I told them that this was the case.
OK, it was certainly a lie. But how could I not say it, if it was so essential to my survival? (You will soon understand why it was so. I am getting to this.) Yet, I can't get rid of the thought that what I did was completely immoral, even though I believe that the goal justifies the means. Of course, not always and not entirely, but you aren't expecting a philosophical reflection from a person who's freezing to death, are you?
Oh, by the way, almost forgot to tell you, talking about lights, Mr. Jackson promised he would visit us later in the evening to see if he could do anything about them. You can just say that it is no longer a problem and invite him in for a cup of tea!
Finally, I am reaching the most important part of my story, because you'd probably like to know why I made such a decision.
Well, then know that this is not your fault! Or at least not entirely.
According to you, it was just the way teenage crisis affected me, and you were sure that it would pass. You were probably right, as I do not believe that people can love anyone forever (especially because they all die at some point). But the fact is that this is something a lot more serious than a teenager's passion.
I love her.
Please, do not tell me you did not know this was going to happen. First, you cannot tell me anything right now as I am no longer with you, and, second, I would have never left without making sure you understood my condition.
In fact, “a few times” is an understatement. I started talking to you, every day, at every possible occasion, trying to break your resistance again and again. But you wouldn't succumb! Wouldn't listen! Or - sometimes - even worse! What a trap you could lay out to me, your only son!
I remember, that once or twice, when I was finally sure you were listening to me, when you looked at me and I could see that you knew what I was talking about in your eyes, one of you would say: "Yes, this is exactly what I went through when I was of your age...".
Ah! That phrase of yours hurt me so much, that even now my hand is shaking when I am trying to write it down and my heart is breaking out of my chest.
At least I found some support in books. I soon discovered that almost every romantic writer that has ever lived expressed the same thoughts as I did. He, too, knew that his love was unique, and he was certainly a lot more mature than I am. Well, if even adults backed up my points, how could I be wrong?
Nobody, nobody, nobody can love in the same way that I do!
You did not know that, not having as much experience in the field of romantic reading as I do. But you always wanted me to think logically. Well, where was your own logic when you argued with me? Just think about what I feel towards Megan and what you could have felt! How is it even possible to judge these two sentiments in a same way? Megan could not have been more than a baby when you were already a teenager!
In the end, our endless arguments had to stop. You grew tired of me, in the same way all my friends, teachers and classmates did, and urged me to stop bringing up Megan in every conversation.
If you did not know what I felt, how could you say that it wasn't true? This impossibility was impossible to confront.
Even so, my love invaded every cell of my body, and I was not able to think about anything else but it. I kept on getting distracted from everything I was doing, whether it was school work or home duties. And you were wondering how I managed to get a burn on my ear, while ironing clothes!
Reading myself now, I see a small bit of exaggeration in my writing. Yes, there were moments of peace. There were moments when I forgot what had been oppressing me for so long. I thought I had escaped my obsession and felt like a free person. How can I put it? I was ready to even enjoy life once again! Still, always, sooner or later, I would realize that I was keeping the thought that haunted my days and nights somewhere at the very back of my mind. And what a disappointment it proved each time!
The worst was that I did not get help from you. You said, for instance, that I did not know what kind of person Megan was and that I only liked -- I am telling you this exactly the way you phrased it, even though it gives me a lot of effort and pain to put this down on paper -- her face and her body! But after that slap in the face, you could not really consider that I would stay at your house, could you?
Well, I must admit that Megan is pretty, and even -- maybe -- beautiful. But this is not the point.
The point is that I love her entirely.
I mean not only her appearance. I mean her voice, the way she acts, the films she starred in, her walk, her clothes, her look, her words! When I look at her on the screen, I know what she feels at that very moment and know her thoughts and the real meaning behind the words that come from her divine lips. If I did not love her, I would have fallen in love with all the other actors in Transformers and the Transformers themselves, just because they have seen Megan in real life, knew her as she really was, walked on the ground her steps once touched and had an opportunity to breathe the same air as her!
But my heart and my mind were full to brimming over.
And then, one day, I found her Facebook page. The first thing I did was to explain everything to her in a private message. I am not sure anyone writes private messages on Facebook now, but I did. And failed. The next day I tried to present my feelings in a clearer way. I said: "Dear Megan, you don't know me but I do know you. You do not have to answer. Just keep on looking out of your window and one day you will see someone out there, in the darkness, watching your room. That is me" and so on. And then I kept on writing to her. At the beginning once every week. Then every day. And soon enough it became a habit to bring her up-to-date on each new thought of mine. I can't lie - she has never texted back, but I am sure that she has read at least one of those messages, and, of course, kept on following my life story, and started to love me herself, understanding what I feel to the very last detail. It just cannot be otherwise.
You, Mom and Dad, wondered why I was spending so much time on the internet. I certainly could not explain what I was doing to you and therefore had to keep silent. Well, then came your usual bit about how it was not possible to communicate with your son, even though you never really tried to, and blocked my access to my own computer! Now you understand that after this I no longer had a choice!
My dear parents, do not blame yourselves. I am sure you were unaware of the consequences of your actions back then. But now there is no other way for me to continue to exist on this planet, apart from the one I described in my letters to Megan. I will come to the place where she lives and watch her window.
Do not ask for an address! It was very hard for me to find one, as every person that I questioned on the web told me he was sure that he knew. But every single time it was a different place, sometimes -- even continent. So, I have decided to visit every location indicated to me. Please, do not do the same thing just to look for me. I know you can, but trust me: you can still do better!
Don't worry! I am sure that one day my quest will be completed. I will find the Garden of Eden and will just stand in front of its entrance, waiting for Megan to reach me from her paradise! That is, by far, the only thing I can be entirely sure about!
P.S. On second thoughts, in a week or so, my money will probably run out, so I will have to visit you again to ask for more. Could you please leave a few banknotes under the rag in front of the same apartment door this paper currently lies on? I know you don't like giving out pocket money, but this is an exceptional case and I promise I won't ask for more, when I'll be living with Megan. In addition, I am only requesting the price of a flight to California (with a small chance of a train trip to Moscow).
So that was the story of my love and a very abridged one, by the way. I am really sorry but I have to quickly end this letter here. It's suddenly becoming so dark outside that I am afraid I won't find a path to the nearest metro station. And if the lamp I am sitting under stops working, I'll find myself in a really ridiculous situation. To be honest, that sort of early dusk is something I did not quite plan.
Oh, and I hear Mr. Jackson making his way down the stairs! Well, see you maybe.
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