I hope Charlie Chaplin could stop starring at us from the posters. So we could kiss in peace, and didn’t need to remember that we ever kissed every time when we look at him after we parted. Or when I look at him. 

I hope I didn’t go to that show of yours, so that when you post the video of that show on the Internet, I don’t have to remember it was me who tucked those shirt into your pants, fastened your belt and said you’ll be okay. I still have that belt by the way. 

I hope when people say “Thank you for coming, this means a lot to me.” They really mean it. Or I hope that at least you do.

I hope people remember the stories they tell. I hope the clowns come out more frequently in that story so I can hear that song you sing. I hope the squirrel and the sea gull stayed together, they have berries for breakfast, burgers for lunch, each other for dinner.

I hope I didn’t talk myself into converting every little ordinary thing you do into the most mesmerizing charm. I hope I didn’t love you this much, that I carved every inch of you into my bones, that I can replay the way you do everything exactly as you do it in my mind, but never to see those movements again. 

I hope I didn’t scratch your cheek, your chest and your belly the way I did every morning, I hope I didn’t think you are the most adorable creature alive on this planet, in this galaxy as I did it. 

I hope everyone you meet treat you as good as I did, or even better than I did. 

I hope I didn’t feel such anger when every time I think someone else may treat you badly while still enjoy your presence. I hope I didn’t have the urge of killing their entire immediate and extended family only to find out such a thing to be illegal, or to find that I don’t know who they are at all.

I hope I didn’t remember some of the things you said because every time I close my eyes they turn into ten thousand guillotines smashing all over my body. I also hope I didn’t forgive you for those words already.

I hope I can pack up 78 packages of gifts and leave them at your doorstep. One for each of your birthdays. I hope you know they are from me. I hope you don’t know they are from me. I hope you don’t throw them away regardless. 

I hope you will open them in the order of their number every year at the end of the summer, at the beginning of our story. I hope you smile. 

I hope you can still live after those packages run out. Happy and healthy. I hope I’ll never see you then, so I can remember you as young, fresh, passionate, so you can always be twenty-two somewhere in this world. 

I hope you don’t laugh at me about these with your friends. I hope you laugh at me about these with your friends. I hope you didn’t call me a bitch every time you mention my name. I hope you did so for every opportunity that comes your way. I hope you didn’t hate me. I hope you hate me like I’m the most despicable person ever existed. 

I hope you didn’t come into my dream literally every night. 

I hope in those dreams you weren’t looking so pretty.

I hope I won’t wake up when I dream of you again tonight.

I hope I make it right this time.

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