Dear B,

If you’re reading this letter it’s because I’ve dared an attempt to take my desire to it’s limit. I am writing these words about five weeks before I would share them with you. So in this very moment, I am unsure that I ever will. I am certain of their truth though. Well knowingly that this very truth might be evanescent, and in that way simply an idea of the past, once the next five weeks have run their course. But if this letter has found it’s way to you, it’s because this idea of mine has passed the test of time that I put it through.  

24.10.2024

Today I am possessed by the kind of determination that can only arise from the realisation that my desire, my wish, is in fact so strong, that every other force, whether that be internally or externally, becomes secondary: My sense of rationality. The valuable opinions of others. My crushing experiences of being treated poorly by you. Your recurring acts of disrespect towards me. Your unbelievable discourage of my artistry. Your eternal apathy. Your madness. And my insanity. I am aware, though, that this insanity of mine is the very force that makes me send you this letter. And my creative force, which is rooted in my insanity, is what makes me write it. I am also aware that my wish, which I will express to you on these next pages, if fulfilled, will change both our lives in such a drastic way that neither one of us will ever be the same again. But I’ve come to realise. I’ve come to acknowledge. I’ve come to accept. That there is something that has to be brought to life. Someone. And that the only two people who can create this someone together are you and me. 

Throughout the past month of processing, that is, ruminating, contemplating, thinking, writing, talking, listening, reflecting, digging, looking, searching, all powered by the urgency to understand, to heal, to go, to liberate myself, yet again, from the prison of my own desire for you, I’ve found something of great importance and of great mystery: 

• I want to become a mother. 
• And I want your DNA for my child.    

The realisation that I do wish to have a child, is of great importance because of time. 

And the idea of this very child being our mutual creation is of great mystery, because of it’s palpable lack of reason. Cause why you? You’re mentally unstable. Ill might even be the right term. You’re neurodivergent. You lack empathy. You’re extremely labile. You’re not happy. Not healthy. Utterly unpredictable. You can’t be trusted. Not to mention all of the questionable external circumstances: You’re lonely. You don’t have a social support system. You’re financially unstable. You’re a Trump supporter. You’re not far away from living the life of an actual incel. And you’re incapable of truly loving someone else. Because in truth, you don’t know how to even love yourself.   

So no, my desire to make a baby with you is indeed irrational. 

And I am aware that my desire for you is rooted in the hunt for and the conquest of you, whose love I well know will never entirely be mine. But my passion.. My passion is dependant on that very impossibility of conquering you and your love completely. And this is why I suffer. Cause my life, my creation, my art, my self, my aliveness, my existence, and the vitality of all of this, of all of me, is deeply attached to this very force of passion. And you, in your very autonomous essence, make me feel. You, in your strange darkness, make me wonder. You, in your violent volatility, awake my passion. You, you peculiar creature, make me feel an urgency to create. An urgency to make love. An urgency to fight. An urgency to live.

In many ways, I see our relationship as a work of art in itself. A mutual creation between two people who are both insane in their own particular ways. And so as much as I resent you for the disrespect you’ve most recently brought me, I still do care and dare to keep on creating. Only now I want the next chapter to be that of our live’s most ultimate creation: a fantastic little baby. Half me, half you. Total mystery.   

I’ve come to understand that I continuously chose to practice unprotected sex with you, time after time, because I subconsciously was wishing for a child with you. And yes, I most definitely was in love with you. And yes, I most definitely have been blinded by my desire for you because of exactly that. It’s strange, cause it all of a sudden seems so completely obvious to me that I find it curious that I never got it before:

You and I would make a really good child together, DNA-wise. That’s it. You’ve been wanting to impregnate me, I’ve been wanting you to do so, and it’s been very confusing, cause that feeling has been like an alien moving into my body, trying to explain to me what is happening in a language I don’t speak. 

I’ve never felt such a desire to have a man’s semen inside of me ever before. But I think that both of us knew all along, on some deep, spiritual, instinctive level, that the combination of your DNA and my DNA would create something truly amazing. And so I want that. I want my baby. I want you to give me my baby.  

Lastly I want to tell you that it’s not like I haven’t factored our dysfunctional, sometimes bordering mentally abusive relationship into this strange idea of mine. But that’s also not what’s the most important anymore. 

At the very core of this gesture of mine is the simple, but profound wish to make a baby with you. Everything else will follow suit. I am sure of this. It’s not about you and me. It's about the idea of this child that I now know that I want. 

I don’t know what your process has been like during our time apart. I don’t know where you have landed by now. If you have landed at all. I mean, I really don’t know what’s going on with you these days. 

But I am asking you to think about what I am asking from you. I am asking you to think about what you think about it. And lastly, I am asking you to tell me what you think about it, at a time you see fit. 

I desire you. I despise you. I recent you. I need you.  

R.