Sorry, this entry is only available in English, 繁體中文, 简体中文, Español, Deutsch, 한국어, 日本語, Português do Brasil, Turkish, Français and Tiếng Việt. For the sake of viewer convenience, the content is shown below in this site default language. You may click one of the links to switch the site language to another available language.
Originally written in French, translated by OpenAI.
I first wrote to Soupirs at the beginning of July 2019. The heat was unbearable, the sun scorching. I sent my first letter at the end of my solo trip to Japan, and I was returning to Paris two days later — it was sent completely randomly, through an “automatic match” with the shared hobby of “poetry.”
We wrote increasingly long letters to each other every day. When we were both in the capital, the letters took about 30 minutes to arrive — at most, two hours when we were on vacation.
Thanks to Soupirs, I rediscovered my love for writing, at a time when I truly and unconsciously needed it. Imaginary pen pals and letters written to ghost recipients in my phone notes were no more — Soupirs became my correspondent, and he would become my best confidant, the person who would help me discover myself, open me fully to the world, and be honest with myself and others.
“I find myself waiting for your letters now. It’s become a habit to devour your words on paper with my eyes. Reading, rereading, writing, waiting. Like a life habit, a new game I’m playing, with the only rule being to trust time.”
– July 11, 2019
“Our letters are getting longer and longer. I love long letters. But I fear being increasingly drawn into writing them, especially since they only take two hours to travel, and even less when I’m back in Paris; I always want to read, reread, and respond to them.”
– July 12, 2019
We met as strangers, and I confided in him like no one else. My letters were, at most, drafts of who I was, of my life, my past, my fears, and my joys. I will always remember the letter where I truly opened up, where I took the leap and went beyond surface-level topics: that letter was longer, more sincere, and written with great care. I dreaded its reception, fearing I might never get a response.
“Your letter indeed has a different flavor than usual. Your sincerity is so pleasant to read.”
– July 12, 2019
Confiding in Soupirs was a sort of release. The more I wrote, the more attached I became, and the better I understood myself. We both gained something from what the other brought us — a kind of equitable relationship. We both needed the same thing: to write, to find meaning in our vacations and in life in general. Despite our differences, we had the same goals, and often the same view on existence.
Poetry created the true bond between us; we exchanged a lot of our poems, favorite collections, and poets we loved. We were driven by the same flame: writing, reading, learning. And we learned so much from each other, offering so much to read, discover, and inspire each other to write. Even today, it’s still the case, alongside music, cooking recipes, and a bit of everything that exists and draws us in.
After exchanging phone numbers, we promised to meet in the capital at the end of July. The first meeting wasn’t a real date: the goal was to find a Cioran essay in the same Parisian neighborhood and accidentally run into each other if fate allowed. I had promised him a handwritten response to his last Slowly letter, which I had carefully hidden behind a row of books in a Latin Quarter bookstore. We were searching for each other without really searching, giving only a few physical descriptions (him: a red t-shirt and a bag — me: a long navy skirt and heels). Then, as I stood in front of books in a bookstore, I received this message:
“I… saw you. 99% chance.”
What’s the last 1%?
The strange possibility of a person who could be you but isn’t.”
We met in the early evening and walked together along the Seine until night fell. Our small talk, outside the world and the closeness we had managed to build through letters, was hard to process. The second meeting came a few days later, at the Musée d’Orsay. We met several more times after that, then he went on vacation, and August slightly separated us. We didn’t exchange many letters.
Then September came — autumn was setting in, and the start of the new school year felt like a blow to the back of the head. The time we spent writing to each other already seemed so far away. He was in preparatory school, and I was in my final year of university, with the goal of studying abroad the following year. Our studies consumed all the time we had set aside for each other during the summer. We exchanged a few handwritten letters (until mine was lost in the mail), met a few times to work together in a café or walk along the Seine. We stopped talking in October for various reasons, including the disconnect between our writing and reality. Then, Slowly, and a Christmas letter:
“A thought for you, despite everything. Merry Christmas, Soupirs. Have a happy holiday.”
– December 25, 2019
And a reply a few days later:
“Thank you, Astia. Happy New Year to you!”
– January 1, 2020
These ridiculous phrases managed to rekindle a breeze of contact: there was always a constant and unbreakable connection through letters. A few short missives followed, less filled with doubt and frustration. We began talking again at the beginning of the year, in small pieces, through messages. We saw each other again in February. We spent a few afternoons working and talking together in cafés in the capital, and some weekend evenings together.
To me, the relationship I have with him is not simply chance; I believe we were destined to meet, and our letters arrived at the right time. The summer and the time we had to exchange letters were the perfect conditions for what we wanted to create. We often said that our relationship resembled that of characters in a novel. We meet in the most beautiful places in Paris, spend time drinking cider in each other’s apartments under soft lighting, and share our readings, music, and thoughts. If we believe the urban legend: we have several soulmates scattered across the Earth, with whom we maintain strong and eternal bonds. I sincerely believe this when I take the time to realize how lucky I am that he exists. This relationship is undoubtedly the most privileged and magical I’ve ever experienced.
I’m certain that no matter where I go or who I become; Soupirs will always be there. We will continue to inspire and help each other grow, forever.
