Since yesterday, I've been thinking over and over about texting you. Maybe reminding you about the fact that I fully forgot the word 'perrenque'. Maybe reminding you about the fact that you finally told me what the 'P-dimension' was. Maybe asking you whether you submitted. Maybe telling you that I miss you. Maybe telling you that I hope that you are okay. But right now I just want to tell you that I miss our past selves (our past lives). That I miss feeling the way I felt for and with you when I was 17, 18, 19, even 20, 21, 22, or 23. It is not that I don't love you now that I'm 31. I do. But I love you in a different, perhaps slightly more complicated way. It is that my present life is such a way that, probably as a response to you, reality holds an incommsurable value to me. But since you're back in my life, especially since I saw you face to face in Prague, I can't help but feel the pull of the irreal again. It is not that I want to leave reality behind and jump into irreality with you. That's the thing. I don't think I want that. What I want is to be back in the irreality of the past, of our past. I want to be 23 again and see you about two meters away from me while waiting for Deafheaven to come out, and instead of deciding not to look at you (pretending that you are not there), maybe keep looking at you until our eyes met. I want to be 23 again and hear you talking to me after Deafheaven. I want to be 23 again and reconnect with you after a year trying to get over you; and instead of having these complicated feelings right now in 2025, have them (or a different variation of them) back then in 2016. I want our 23-year-old selves to get back together and probably break up in a more healthy way and finally have closure... or who knows, maybe even make it.

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