LS Harteveld

About 15 years ago, I corresponded with a young writer, Elliot.  My side of the story turned into a book Bedtime Stories, which is in my bookshop. In 2023 we briefly reconnected, and now we are writing again. 

We need to talk about Connor was written in response to Elliot’s first public letter to me:
Dusting Off the Keys

 

5 November 2026
Guy Fawkes Day (UK)

Dear Elliot,

An inner-world.
That’s what I would round it off to, the similarity between you, me and Connor.
But also: It’s the reason that, indeed, I never saw you as vulnerable.
Perhaps a vulnerable situation, but most of all just a challenging life phase, and one all of us can relate to. 

I did not hear any alarm bells, but I will also say that you had control over the only world I am interested in, which is the inner one.
I will never see someone with such a rich inner-world, which they master, as vulnerable.

You were young in years (I recall you turning 15 at some point, but I forgot when we started writing) but you already had this rich inner-world, in which you knew your way around. And when I say inner-world;
I do not mean a magical fairy place where reality is escaped.
I mean a magical fairy place where the world is almost violently, being pulled into, exactly as it is. And where it is analyzed and understood, and meaning is attributed to what was once chaos.
It is a place where the world becomes sufferable.
And you had access to one.
This Underworld….

And like me – although I don’t think I went there until I was already in my thirties – and like Connor – more about him later – this skill has made us mighty in the real world.

Regardless of everything I missed about you in 2010-ish, or brushed away too easily, and regardless of what you never trusted to share;
Even then, no one had the right to see you as vulnerable.
If we were to use labels, I would insist we put them on your past surroundings. But they do not get to define who you were, which was someone incredibly wise, and sweet, and reflective.

I have no idea why I feel the need to go on a tangent about that, let’s hope it’s not because I feel myself above any of it.
I’m sure I made a ton of mistakes that other people may have started blaming themselves for.
Hope you can read it as: Yes Elliot. I did always have faith in you. And at the same time I tried to not be blind to where the world failed you.

I notice myself having trouble writing without addressing or naming things that are definitely part of our connection. I’m keeping these letters non- specific, but I will tell you (and the other readers) why;
It is because despite your reassurance in your private letters, that I can write here about anything I want, I’ve decided to only respond to what you yourself are disclosing in your new blogseries of this correspondence. So you decide the topics I address in public, and you also decide on the pace in which they are disclosed.
This way these letters will hopefully never surprise you, or confront you, in a bad way.

Now the “I’ll get back to”, also the title of this letter:
We need to talk about Connor.

And not just We – because you requested it both in our private conversation, as well as your public letter to me – but I.
I need to talk about him.

Because I suspect he’s not just the last man I have fallen in love with, but that he will be the final one.
Just like my secret lover Mr. Big may have been my final sex partner.

There seems to be a sense of completion. Of finality.
A knowing, if you will, that this was it. Or this was “Him”. And that if I want my life on earth to be something I do not come back to, a line needs to be drawn somewhere, sometime.
I can’t leave this planet with a bleeding, a longing, or a lusty heart, or I will reincarnate and that is something I definitely will not do.

I imagine arriving up into the heavens, or wherever meetings like this are held. And I open a bottle of chilled wine and pour both myself and the officer in question one, in a whiskey glass with ice. And I wear a black tank top and have muscular arms (and maybe a piece in a holster, like in Miami Vice) (which by the way is currently filming with Austin Butler in the lead) (but I digress)

Anyway, I sit my hip on the table as I pour them their drink and I say:
“This can be a long conversation, or a short one. It’s up to you. But I can already tell you how it ends, which is with me moving away. I am not going to guide anyone.”
(I turn my back on the officer, and place the bottle in the fridge again)
“I’m not going to reincarnate into a new body.”
(walking back to my seat, still avoiding eye contact)
“And I’m definitely,” (now I make eye contact) “Not going to hell or heaven. And this is also, the last conversation I will ever have.”
*dramatic pause*
“So you decide,”  (at which point I take a huge sip of my drink) “What’s it going to be?”

As you can see, this is a conversation I look forward to having. And one of the very few I have bothered to prepare. Because in our human lives, like your letter also says, it’s best to just stick with the practical stuff. To the doing, and to the arranging of the doing.
To have that conversation about wall paint, and to leave all that depth we carry out of it.
And honestly, to leave it out in particular from the ones we love.

Because Elliot, I think we would not even want to have those types of conversations with our romantic partners.
I think we fall in love with them because they are closed where we are open.
Content with shallow answers where we do not rest until we have turned every stone within a five mile radius.

At least; That is what I would have said if you had returned last year. Or before that.
But now, after I fell in love with Connor?
I know what I missed.

And I want to grieve what was never there. That I never had a lover who could hold my depth, and everything I am, and for whom I did not have to pretend to be okay with him keeping his inner-world (there it is again) out of our connections.
I don’t want to have fights about normal every day things, but if we do fight (as I wrote you) then yes, I think having fights about shallow things are definitely preferable to me being ready to go deep and then being rejected for it.

I also don’t want to be your emotional dumping ground, so simply a man “opening up” will not cut it either. I will be completely stressed out from that, and I think I’ve understood this about myself for a very long time, and have always fought tooth and nail to prevent it from happening.
And never had a man break down on me, or with me.
And I don’t care what a cliché that is or how unkind that I don’t want that kind of rawness so close to me; But I knew there was a hard limit there.
And looking back at how little drama I had, you could say I successfully managed to stay within my limitations.

So had you come to me in 2024 or 2025, I would have said;
“Elliot, let’s not just accept that we have relationships with people who do not want to share their inner-world with us, but let’s celebrate! Because we got exactly what we want.”

But you came to me in 2026, and now I say:
“And then, there was Connor.”
He was like the writer you mentioned in your private letter, whose work should not be read until you are older and need to be shaken out of your complacent sense of knowing what life is all about.
Well Connor, he shook me out of it.
And it’s tempting to say “hard”, but that would give it a sexual connotation that I have no right of using.
Which brings me to the disclaimer paragraph.

The disclaimer is that Connor can in no way be held accountable for my feelings, nor do I want to suggest there is anything mutual. I think one of the most ugly mistakes men make with women is not accepting a No, and thinking a woman likes them anyway.
I’ve heard they sometimes even brag about it to other men, which is even more disgusting.
Me telling the full truth (and not a black and white version where I simplify it) does automatically puts me at risk of making that same mistake of interpreting it more favorable.

The next paragraphs are me attempting to walk the Middle Path.

So when it comes to Connor, then he rejected me with his absence and his silence.
In the same way Mr.Big ended things with me, with silence and then with selling his condo (“our” condo!) without me knowing.
I called it Death by Real Estate.
And although I understood the reasons behind it, as far as he let me in on them, what I understood mostly was him withholding the conversation about the situation.

Selling the condo did not have to be the end. He could have informed me, offer me an opportunity to say goodbye to it, even in a platonic way. He could have used it as a way to end his affair with me, and use us saying goodbye to the place as a symbolic way to cut the cord.
But he didn’t.
And he let his silence, the not talking, do the work for him.

It’s tempting to say I never forgave him, but the truth is that from my perspective there was little to forgive. Either he could not have a conversation about Us, and this was the only way he knew how to end it.
Or alternatively, he thought eight years of being lovers still means you do not owe them anything. Not even kindness or consideration.
It doesn’t matter because both scenarios round off to the same: He rejected me.
End of story.
That does not require forgiveness, that is just a fact.

And I can muse or even let you in with real life proof, about why I think Mr. Big never said goodbye because he wanted that door to stay open, but it doesn’t change anything.
Despite me calling it Death by Real Estate for dramatic effect, it was his silence that closed the door for him. Not the selling of the condo.

In the same way, I could try to convince you that I don’t think the Connor story is over, but what difference does it make.
Silence is a rejection.
Whether you do it with or without selling real estate, I get the message.

So this part below, about Connor;
Please don’t let it be a “I know he’ll come back” message, because this is a “He changed my world” confession. And I allow myself to speak about him, because he may be the final man I ever fall in love with. And I want that to somehow be part of my body of work.

So. Connor.
He reminded me of you, but you and me connected so long ago, I had forgotten. But yes, I can see it now so clearly!
Yet you were never a love interest to me, and Connor was. Or became it.

So to see that kind of mental depth with someone who is within your dating age bracket (admittedly, I do have a broad age bracket! 😉 ) and who is also absolutely STUNNING?
Elliot trust me when I say anyone even remotely romantically curious about dating men, would fall for that.

I would even argue that if you were a heterosexual man but you feel attracted to Connor, he would not even count. Do you know that rule of thumb? Like having a crush on a same-sex Hollywood actor, “don’t count”?
Could very well be that it is no longer appropriate to say that (and probably for valid reasons) but if it still passes, it’s something like:
“Austin Butler doesn’t count.”
Meaning: A man attracted to Austin Butler can still be straight.

Connor too, would not count.
When (not if!) you fall for him, all we know is that your eyes still work.

So there is nothing special about me falling in love with him. That’s what everybody does who meets him, although admittedly most of us would hide it better.
However what is worth mentioning, and why I am writing about him, is how he changed my world. My demands. Now that I know “what’s out there”, I’m not going to settle anymore.

So 2024 or 2025 me, she would have said;
“Oh Elliot. We don’t want a partner that is so writer-y, and introspective as we are.
If we did, we’d have one.
Maybe you and me are even the villains in this story! 
And their silences, micro-aggressions, or them selling real-estate to break up with us, make us feel better about ourselves.
Let’s rejoice in all our humanness and be happy we’re all so different.”

But 2026 me says:
“Elliot, I want that.”
And then that means I want the Hollywood star level man with the incredible rich inner world, and will never settle again for a lover who treats communication like a necessary evil.
Which is basically all men I’ve ever been with.

I’m done, Elliot.
I’m just really, really done.
I want it all.

To write three thousand words long letters.
To have them understood.
And to receive one back, written by him.

To have a man be fearless in asking me things, because our No’s are part of the connection, just as much as the yesses.
And in return I too will be fearless in asking him things, and will love his No’s as much as his yesses.
I will cherish every word, every moment we align even when the result is not what I hoped for.

I want a man to be the person in charge in the bedroom and to always call me the morning after, to check how I feel and to hold space for me.
To integrate what worked, and to delete what was poorly digested.
Or to ask at our next encounter, how I would feel about trying this and that again, and suggest a role play to go with it, that sparks my erotic interest.

I want him to share his inner-world with me.
Not the trauma, resurfacing for the first time. But to share how he is currently managing it. A changed perspective, a development. The stuff he still struggles with, and forgets that just being able to name it and flag it as something he still struggles with, is already so much progress.
He shares things that are not light, but they’re already in the light.

His emotions do not reach me unprocessed, and my emotions are not given or exposed to him in their raw form either.
We both do our inner work.

And I don’t care about monogamy. Or I guess I do care, because I care enough for it not to want it. I think monogamy is so lazy, compared to having a real, alive, connection.
I would just be upset if that alive connection existed and then if I would get another lover and he would not be able to handle it.
I want someone who is genuinely happy for me that good things are happening, and who can even support me in it.
Although I would respect it of course, if he could not be so hands on in his support and does not want to hear about it.
But regardless, how can you not be happy for me?

And the other way around as well.
I want him to keep his heart open, and appreciate love and lust, one of the few things that make life on earth make sense. The few things, that are worth being here for.
Regardless with whom, and whether he prefers casual dating or entire affairs.
And even if he wants to pursue a monogamous relationship, then I want a man who still makes room for me as a friend. Generously.

Yet if he would then end things out of loyalty for a new partner, I would feel betrayed.
Because I thought we were more than sex.
I thought we had something that could not be denied, except you just did.

So in that respect, I will never know if a partner is the right one – and if he was indeed just as ideal as the man I once knew and whom I called Connor – until I find a second lover or until he gets tested by someone offering him a normal relationship, in which he does not have to fight for being different or wanting something different from women, and from life.

If I ever find a lover like Connor, then I hope those things happen soon.
That there will be a second lover for me, and that he will be tempted to the life of his dreams but with me as the sacrifice.
How he treats me then, reveals what he was made of.

But regardless if I get to have that one true last love, and regardless if it’s Connor, Mr.Big, Austin Butler or someone new; 
I’m not coming back to earth for him.

It’s now or never.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

Subscribe to this blog for my letters to Sara;
The series Harteveld 2026*
Behind the Scenes of my 2001 timeline
And more letters to Elliot!
The subscription button is on this page, most likely on the top right.

About 15 years ago, I corresponded with a young writer, Elliot.  My side of the story turned into blogposts, and then a book Bedtime Stories, which is in my bookshop.

In 2023 we briefly connected again, and now I received a new letter. With his consent, I am sharing his blog, and answering via this post.

Dear Elliot,

It was such a big surprise to see your name in my Inbox.
At the risk of sounding disrespectful, you are this strange anomaly in my life!
A bond that should not have happened, and if it did happen it should have dried up and died out after 24 hours.
Or, if that did not happen, then there should have been a co-dependence, ill-will or malice.

And yet it turned into one of the most equal connections I ever experienced.
And if that meant I had the mind of a 15 year old, when in my thirties, then I take that as a compliment. Because you were more mature than anyone I have ever known, although I think I met your match this year 😉 
Let’s call him Connor.
And it wasn’t until I received your letter and was immediately pulled back into your inner-world, when I realized: “Of course! I knew Connor rang a bell!”
It was you, he reminded me of.

Connor is no longer in my life.
And with your return you’ve kind of proven how I feel about him;
I feel he will return when the time is right.
And am just as detached with him as I was with you.

You are probably one of the few who understands that some bonds do not die just because you are in no contact. But yes, I was disappointed of course. But now you are back! So looks like the Universe has it handled.

I loved all the stories in your letter, and you do deserve a proper answer. But I am so incredibly short on time this weekend after yesterday’s one hour appointment turned into 6, in the most wonderful way!
So this letter back will not be what you or your letter to me deserve.
For the lack of time reasons, but also because I am still unsure of what information about you is part of your blog/ writing/ public, and what not. So that also makes it undesirable to be specific at this time.

Enough with the disclaimers; about your beautiful letter.

I loved your reflection, your inner-world. The way you name things, and weigh them, and describe your love relationships at multiple different levels of facts, expectations, and potential. 

And it’s so cinematic. I enter and it’s like I’m standing in the middle of your life and already know everybody.

About one thing I can be specific though: You do not need an interior designer.
Not as someone who has such an intense relationship with the world around them, bring that into the relationship with your home. You and your partner have found such an amazing place to live. Do not let another person get their hands on it, but make that the work of you and your partner together.

Even if you do an aesthetically super poor job, it will still be so gratifying to look at that strangely colored wall, where you ran out of paint and you just fixed it with a different color.
The doorsteps that never got done and that remind you and your partner every day, that the work is never done.

Let the home become how you work on your relationship, it eases the stress of difficult conversations, because issues no longer have to be confronted or named directly.

It’s good for people like us, with these deep inner-worlds, to have relationships that revolve around practical things.
Not just to get us out of our heads, but also because it’s a great equalizer.
It grounds the relationship, and if you have disagreements or fights, then at least it’s about something silly that seems solvable, which is preferable to hoping for a deep conversation someone is not ready for.
(and one does not exclude the other)

As for the titel of this post, The Prodigal Son, I know it’s pretentious! And also not entirely true because as I said in the first paragraph, it has always been equal.
But yes, the responsibility I felt, back in 2010-ish, of corresponding with a minor, was definitely one I had never had.
And I knew I would never forgive myself if I fucked this up.

Having you return, and doing so incredibly well for yourself, fills my heart with love, joy and maybe I am also crying now.

But you made it Elliot.
You fucking, made it.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

Subscribe to this blog for my letters to Sara;
The series Harteveld 2026*
Behind the Scenes of my 2001 timeline
And who knows, perhaps more letters to Elliot!
The subscription button is on this page, most likely on the top right.