letter fourteen to rahel: now i see us walking down cedar lane

oh, dearest psnuki of mine


for reasons unknown to me, i somehow miss you more than i usually do. i mean, don’t get me wrong. i always miss you. a lot. and maybe i’m in a currently missy mood, but honestly, after we spoke last night i truly felt how the part of me that is you just isn’t really there enough physically properly huggably. and seeing as one of my favourite things ever to do with you is reminisce. stroll down our own memory lane (probably an avenue with cedar trees in our case), i have decided to change things up a bit this week. even more so considering the fact that i gave you detailed updates of everything i had been up to just under twenty-four hours ago. so. i have my diary here. you know, the one i have been writing into daily since i was 18 (which was five years ago. half a decade. where is time going?!). this is what i’ll do: i’ll randomly open pages and point at days until my finger lands on a great snukandinski memory. plan? plan.


february 17th 2013: lying in your bed, and taking my frau fasnacht cassette virginity, after having watched peter pan and before the morgestraaaaaaich.


february 3rd 2012: sooooo, remember that one time we flew to london just to see ramin karimloo perform in les misérables because we somehow managed to miss the december-performance we’d bought tickets to? yeah. that was then. that was also the day we first saw tarzan working at costa, the guy who’d later become the store manager. memories.


june 10th 2014: ’twas a very hot day. a very hot day indeed. so we met and went to the bottminger bad, swimming, but mainly lazing about in the shade, listening to “stay gold” by first aid kid (i.e. the whole album. duh) together for the first of many times to come. that was a really, really lovely day.


july 15th 2013: remember that photo which is framed up on my wall? of our naked backsides in a mallorcan infinity pool? the one my dad’s girlfriend took? (of course you. how could you not) that was taken on that day. apparently, and in the spirit of the new season starting in just a couple of weeks, we also watched some game of thrones underneath the stars. which we didn’t know the names of back then.


i think that should do in terms of nostalgia for the time being. i might get too upset otherwise. isn’t it fascinating how those genuinely aren’t even a best of, but just some random choices of oh so many beautiful memories? i cannot wait to create hundreds and thousands more with you. (not the sweet.)


before this gets too emosh, i’d better move in to the book. which is making me emotional in all the other ways. uhm, well. the longer the more, all i can say is that it’s SO up lena dunham’s alley. not really up mine, though. as before, i find the characters unlikeable and unrelateable, it’s lacking plot, and generally, we might just not be the right demographic for this novel. i mean, i’m not hating it. it’s doing something with me. which is already a plus. but i’d prefer if it did different things. ifyouknowwaddamean.


i love you. i miss you. please be here. thank you.




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