For loving me at my worst

An open letter to everyone I’ve ever met. Or am yet to meet. 

I don’t say it enough, so I want to thank you. 

You. Yes, you. Really, honestly and from the depths of my soul, thank you.

You may not remember, but you’ve been there for me when I’ve really needed you – perhaps not you particularly, but I definitely needed someone and you presented yourself with an admirable sense of timing. You’re good like that. 

You once brought me a glass of water when I was so drunk I couldn’t stand, then you laid me on my side and let me rest my head on your favourite cushion.

Or you bought me a coffee when I miscalculated how much money I had until the next payday. 

I particularly remember the time when you needed to get home, but you missed three trams so we could finish our conversation about Kubrick. Or maybe it was the conversation about milkshakes. Or something else, equally important.

Or the time, before we had met, when I was standing alone in a room full of people I knew and I kind of caught your eye and we shared – what was it? Not really a friendly smile, but a silent connection and acknowledgement of presence. That was nice, wasn’t it? 

Because that day I was a little, (How would I best put it?) not depressed but, y’know, a touch blah? Just not having the greatest time with things. Life and such, you know how it goes. And then you, with your ineffable timing, were there. Not doing anything other than being you, for me.

We were in a group of people, or we were alone together, or we were alone apart, or we were on opposite sides of the planet and you thought about me and I felt it, remember that? Because we’re connected. A lot. Or a little.

And I needed that.

I probably didn’t realise – you probably didn’t realise, not consciously anyway but in that clever little energetic connection way that you have – but that time (you remember that time, right? I do), you were exactly what I needed to keep breathing for another second. And the one after that. 

Because we all need that now and then.

And we all know – we know we do, even though we don’t say it enough – that we go through this. Because it’s life. It’s not about crying for help or calling a hotline or the black dog, because it’s not that serious is it? It’s not a clinically diagnosable state of being, but it’s...just a touch blah. 

And the smallest thing, the smallest interaction that costs nothing to one but means so much to the other, can keep the world spinning on its axis for just a moment longer so that momentum can kick in and do its work.

You gave me that. Yep, you. Truly, you did, and my god I thank you for it. Because it was something that pushed me up and made me think and made me love a little bit more. 

It helped. You helped.

And I know you’re sitting there, modest as you are, thinking that I’m not talking about you. But I swear I am – I’m talking directly to you. And you. And you! 

Maybe I’m the only person who reads this much into every single human interaction (I can’t be, because I know that you do too) but every single human interaction has helped form my perspective, opinion, past and future. 

And they’re all essential – without them I’m not me.

And they’re all perfect. 

And I love you, for all of them.

And I really hope that one day, when neither of us realise you need it, I can say or do something that is equal to the perfect nod, or smile, or kind word, or drunken 5am conversation that we once had that I remember so well. 

I hope that I can do for you what you once did for me. That I keep you breathing. That I keep your world spinning.

That I show you love. 

Goodnight.