Everything I could never tell you: Love letters

There is so much hope when it comes to love. I think it’s neither our brazen feelings nor our passion about each other that breathes life in it: it’s our hope.

Time’s infamous and false sense of bliss when it ‘flies’ gave me a reasonably paced recovery period where thankfully, palliative methods were not required and my prognosis turned out to be well more than what was expected.

Fit as a fiddle.

The fool that I was this time last year was writing a series of love letters that ended up unsent and dying a painful death. If it wasn’t for a handful of courage that I had for posting them, they will remain as weightless words floating in thick air, polluted by hate and anger, and corrupted by irreversible pain. Words that, in turn, wounded me as I meant for them to do to her. How deadly it is when spite reared its ugly head.

That was before.

Today, I only hope to negate the parallels. I realize that this is unspeakable, for I do not see the future. I do not know which path leads to ‘being loved in return’, when all my life I always ended up  ‘loving’. How childish it is to wish for both these paths entwine. But isn’t it in our childhood that we find unadulterated happiness, the ultimate contentment? I say I hope to negate the parallels, for these are lines that are always together, but they never are, truly, with each other.

Below are some fragments from past letters, words I’ve read from forever ago, monologues I’ve heard from television, words that, at best, help me string and weave my own. Sometimes, they are perfect as they were, so I choose to tell them as they were meant to be told. And then some. They are parts of a story of something that was ‘once were’. They started out as mine, they were given to someone, but they will always end up as ours. For love is pure and constant, unyielding and resilient, good and eternal.

Love is devoid of whys. They are filled-in spaces because love does not answer questions. Love does not have questions. That is why I always find myself less loquacious than I usually am and answer this question like a blundering idiot:

Why do you love him/her?

Just because.

(Some of these letters were also greatly inspired by other professions of love I came across time)

***

The past love letters

A Series of Love Letters

4th of March, 2012

Dear You,

You’re breathtaking.

It’s a sin to let another day pass without letting you know that. My emotions, I’m aware now, have grown too strong for me to hold in any longer.

In every crowd, I look for your face. My eyes are drawn to you. Nothing could be sweeter than your beauty. It’s like witnessing a beautiful tragedy. I’ve known you for long, but I’ve never been brought to my knees this way before. Sometimes, I just want to touch your face, your lips, your skin, smell your hair, just to make sure that you are real.

Amazed by all that you are.
I remain,
Yours

——————

7th of March, 2012

Dear You,

I miss you today. I try not so much, try to empty my thoughts of you, even for a while.

But all I can think about is how much I want to go to bed with you, wake up next to you, do everything in between with you. In the end, all I can think about is you.

And I miss you. That, I figured, will never really go away.

Amazed by all that you are.

I remain,
Yours

——————

9th of March, 2012

Dear You,

Fighting my memories of you is a battle I cannot win at will.

And so I surrender.

I will continue in loving you. Missing you. Thinking of you.

Everyday. Always.

Amazed by all that you are.
I remain,
Yours

——————

11th of March, 2012

Dear You,

I don’t want to waste another minute.

Life is short, and it’s painful most of the time. I lost and I grieved, cried and hurt, gave up and let go. It still wouldn’t change. I wish all this pain aren’t real.

But.

Every time I look at you, I feel better. It’s unusual. It shocks me. It knocks my wind out, but it’s true. And I’m not asking for anything, I’m just happy to see you by my side, happy to look at you from across the room.

And even that, anything, any piece of you, hopefully all of you – that would be the best thing.

Because I love you.

I remain, forever still,

Yours.

——————

The last love letter

14th of March, 2012

Hidden somewhere is a stack of letters I wrote since the day that I met you. I wrote of our story, of your beauty, and the strange feeling that took over my body. I was writing for you. After all, you are my muse. I was generous of words and committed to these sheets of paper I never thought would be obsolete. I had nothing else to give. Because after all, I am not her. And I love you. No matter how I wish I didn’t and pray I wasn’t. And so I am walking away. The very thing I was avoiding from the start caused me unimaginable pain that was too much to bear, too heavy to contain. Like someone ripped into my chest, and filled the hole with asphalt. Like someone kindled and set my body on fire, exposing every nerve of my body.

Someone. Like you, or me.

I cried a river of tears. And I’m building a bridge to get over it. Over you. Because I love you so much that it hurts me too. And I’m talking about the possibility of forever here. Hidden somewhere is a latch in my soul. I don’t know how long it had been there, and no one is certain how long it will stay there. Only time can tell. And time can keep a secret.

Until then, you are all hers.

And I cease to remain,

Yours

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