Dear friend,

I would like to preface this by saying it is going to be awkward writing to you. It feels rather strange to refer to you as a diary, so, I would rather think of these as letters that will never be seen by the eyes of another instead.

I’m not picking up this habit because it came to mind, rather, my… new therapist suggested it, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt—I like to write, and I’ve already fallen so low anyway; it cannot get any worse.

Documenting my life is a peculiar experience. I’ve no clue as to where to even begin. I suppose, for now, that I will tell you about my day, my plans for the future, and David. Many things about him, that are also coincidentally about me, too.

This morning, I did everything functioning adults are expected to do. I ate, bathed, worked, and took a break, repeating these steps once said break was over. It was fun. I was able to design many new sets for the armours being released in Warrior Tribe next week. Yet, it was also very, very tiring.

As I was about to wind down for the day and head to bed, my phone rang. I did not need to read the name of the caller’s identity because, first of all, only a moron would have called this late.

And second, the ring tone was that of a dog’s loud bark, one that I like to imagine is an enraged pug, who has his mouth full with many a too spices.

Needless to say, I picked up the phone.

I could feel my lips begging me to let them turn into a smile.

For the first time in my life, I felt like those idiots in love you’d see on TV late at night. They’d always make me cringe—now, I wonder if it was simply because I did not understand, or if deep down, part of me was jealous, out of fear that I would never get to experience the same emotions.

David talked to me. He told me about his day. How his mother had yelled at him again for staying out late with his friends: Mark and his girlfriend, whose name I fail to recall right now. I know her nickname has something to do with eggnog, I’m just not sure which one it is—the egg, or the nog? Perhaps it is both. But I digress, David spoke of mundane things I barely remember.

What came after those things was the unexpected, the unknown. “Let’s get together sometime. Not on video call, but face-to-face. I’ll come see you. I bought tickets. But if you think that’s creepy I can cancel though, it’s totally fine,” it was something like that, what he said. And it was something that made my heart somersault within my chest.

After saying yes to him, I didn’t think I’d be able to go back to sleep. So now, I’m here, writing to you, dear friend. There is a part of me that is afraid of what is to come. I’m getting these thoughts that maybe David and I aren’t so compatible after all. That, maybe even after all those phone calls and messages exchanged, we’ll find out that we don’t have that same taste when it comes to something like pineapple pizza. And maybe then he’ll hate me for it, or I will equally despise what he believes in, and we will be nothing more than dust, the remains of a relationship that could have been.

I have seen it happen before. People thinking they are in love because they have spent great weeks together, only to realize it was only lust.

I know you cannot see it, friend, but I am sighing right now. I think I need to go to bed. It’s irrational, what I’m saying—of course he’s not going to leave me over pizza…

Good night, friend. I will speak to you soon.

Yours,

Alexander