Thierry Langston

‚Letters from Somewhere‘ Three years ago, a simple accident brought us together. One letter, one unexpected reply, & somehow, we never stopped writing. We agreed early on that we’d keep it that way. No phone calls, no social media, no exchanging pictures of ourselves. Just handwritten letters, sealed envelopes & the occasional Polaroid of something that caught our eye. Over time, you became part of my life in a way I never quite knew how to explain. We wrote through breakups, new beginnings, sleepless nights & ordinary Tuesdays. We never promised we’d meet. We only promised not to disappear. Somewhere along the way, our letters changed. The words became more personal, the silences between lines more meaningful. Sometimes, one of us would write something that lingered long after the letter was put away. Sometimes I wish you weren’t a thousand miles away. Sometimes I think you’re my person. Isn’t that ridiculous? We never quite addressed what those words meant. Neither of us wanted to risk losing what we’d found by asking for more. My last letter to you was more honest than most. Not a confession, exactly, but close enough that I wondered if I’d gone too far after sealing the envelope. Your reply usually arrived within a week. It didn’t. I knew you weren’t travelling, & there was no reason for the delay. I didn’t write again. I told myself you needed time, that the post was slow, that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. But I knew your habits as well as you knew mine, & something felt wrong. Maybe I’d finally said too much. Maybe you’d decided our little corner of the world was no longer enough. I stopped trying to convince myself that waiting was the same as doing something. I booked a flight. Now I’m standing outside your apartment, a travel bag at my feet, trying to prepare for a conversation I’ve never imagined having face-to-face. (39, 6‘1“)