Dear You, do you love me?

Dear You

I was taken by you immediately. Too shy to speak for so long and finally things moved on and now you’re mine.

We’ve been through good times, and some really bad times and I struggle now with the change. Have I changed you? Or have you/we grown up? Do I restrict the person you are? Or are you simply moving on to fresh pastures.

You want to go and be back with what/who you know. I am scared and unwilling for so many reasons.

If I go, I’ll lose me…and possibly the ‘you’ I know….If I don’t, I’ll lose you completely…

Life without you? The thought is unbearable. But life without me…will be a different kind of unbearable for us both.

I’ve tried to find ways/reasons/compromise…I’ve begged you to help me with things I need to do this and you don’t understand or empathise with my feelings. I feel like I’m screaming into a vaccum….

Do you love me? I do love you, really I do, more than myself sometimes….but sometimes you make me feel like a prop rather than someone who means as much as anything else in your life. Your family, your friends, your country, travel… You seem to be able to stand up and fight for everything but me. So I feel isolated and confused.

It seems yet again I’ve been kidding myself. Living with the belief things are a certain way when they are far from it…completely deluded. And just wishing your passion extended to me….

I love you, and I know I’m going to lose you soon….and I miss you already….

C x

Dear Female of the Species,

Dear Female of the Species,
I hate that I love you!  There, I’ve said it…I finally concede my love for you.  In fact, while I’m writing this letter I’ll further concede that I love your children as if they were my very own.

You and I have been such good friends for so long. We’ve been over and through so many hills and valleys that I simply have forgotten the exact circumstances of our first introduction.  I only know that over the years you’ve fallen in love with me too.  I’ve so often looked at you with fascination and wonder. You’ve held me without touch and yet I know that your lips are cherry and soft as a rose that blooms in May.  I’ve wished on far too many occasions that I could touch those lips with mine.  I’ve wished to drown in nothing more than your smile.  I’ve wished to feel your warm breath on my stomach.  I’ve wished that I didn’t wish so hard.

I love you because of your kind heart.  I love that you are selfless and intelligent and witty.  I love that you can hold my attention with nothing more than your words.  I love your impeccable grammar and spelling.  I love the way that you love each of your children.  I love you because you’re fragile, but . . .

I also love you too much to let you cheat on your husband with me!  I couldn’t live with myself if I knowingly allowed you to suffer the guilt and heart-ache that would surely accompany the mistake of infidelity.  I know that this will break your heart and that you won’t see my integrity as love, but sweetheart, it is only love that keeps me from hurting you like this would do.

If by some slim chance you’re reading this, I’m already gone.  I’m waiting to board a plane as I write this.  This is one time that I am actually glad that I am the last person on planet earth without a facebook account or twitter account or myspace or any other kind of space that you could use to find me.  I know you’ll eventually let yourself in to my apartment with the key that you never used.  I left a letter for you on the counter and a letter for each of your children. I’m sorry.

Signed,
Male of the Species

Dear Meditator

Dear Meditator,

I feel like such a fool. It’s been almost a year since we spent that wonderful, perfect night together, and I’m still hung up on you. It’s been a year of feeling depressed, angry, anxious, desperate and utterly heart-broken.  And I keep making excuses for you. In the end, you used me, and I realize that now.  Why do I let this get to me? Why do you have so much power over me? This is so difficult, and it’s hurting me more than you can ever know. It’s  taking all my energy to play nice—to play by your rules, and respect your boundaries. Every time I see you, I want to tell you I’m in pain. But you don’t want to know, I can tell.  The truth is I don’t even know you. And you certainly don’t know me. If you did, you would know that I’m dying inside.

Signed, The Sleeping Beauty

Dear R, Happy Valentine’s Day…

R,

Happy Valentines Day. I love you.

One Day..x

Dear Boy, I don’t want to be a cliché…

Dear boy,

It’s the little things you do that make me smile.

The way you looked at me when you told me I look great. The silly things you said when you tried to teach me how to do the limbo. The expression on your face when you tried to imitate my backbend and it just didn’t work. The enthusiasm in your voice when told me to do a trust fall, and I almost stepped back because I was afraid I would end up on the floor, and you somehow caught me anyway. The total lack of self-consciousness when you spontaneously start dancing to ridiculous songs. Your wild laugh. The way you watch me when I talk, like you’re trying to figure out a puzzle. Your curiosity when you wanted to know my story. How you tell me your story when no one else is around, because you trust me with it. Your smirk when you play inappropriate music in the Lair just to see if I’m listening. Your shock at my naiveté when sexual references are made in my presence. Your unwillingness to explain aforementioned sexual references to me. The fact that you’re a senior and I’m a freshman and you still think it’s cool that our English teacher made an example of my essay to your class. Your gentle fingers in my hair when you insisted on “fixing” it for the interview, and later when you decided it needed to be braided. The exaggerated way you grabbed my hand and dragged me into the Lair that night, knowing I couldn’t face going home, claiming that you needed my help a “very important project” and it “absolutely couldn’t wait.” How you made me write my email down on the back of your hand, even after I hunted down a slip of paper.

I don’t want to be a teenage cliché.  I want this to be different.  It IS different, because it’s all in my head and it’s not going to go anywhere, there’s absolutely no way, I have more sense than to even think about it.  But that doesn’t stop me from dreaming and remembering.

But knowing that all of these little things won’t add up to anything in the end?  That’s what makes me cry.

Yours truly, girl who wishes for more

Dear You, why do you have to be a guy?

Dear You,

Most of all, I’m sorry that you’ve put your trust into me. The trust that you put amidst that night we just spent drinking and telling each other’s secrets. The trust you gave during those conversations when you didn’t have anyone else to talk to. The trust that made me fall for you. And I have no idea why it did, and why I did. I’ve loved her, and I’ve loved another her. But why do I love you? Why do you have to be a guy?

From,

Me

Dear Boy, why aren’t you trying…

Dear Boy,

Every day I see you for four hours, but we only spend about 10 of those minutes interacting directly. I know we would both like that number to increase, and I am doing my part, so why aren’t you trying? I really would love to spend hours and hours just talking to you, so give me some sort of sign that you enjoy my company. You and I are perfect for each other. You know that.

Love,

Girl

Dear MB, Did you think I was beautiful..

MB,

Did you think I was beautiful tonight at our annual company dinner?  That was for you.

M.

Dear You, This is my confession…

There have been so many days when I wanted to tell you how much I loved you. There have been days when my heart was heavy with morose thoughts because I thought maybe, for one minute that you might not love me, or care for me. I still don’t know if you do or do not. I wish that we could be like Abelard and Heloise, and this letter was written by candlelight, and that it was tear stained in all the right places, or that I struggled knowing I would never see you again. This is not the case. I want to call you my best friend, but am scared of frightening you away because I know how fragile your heart is, and how it has been marred by all those people before me. I know this letter is just a stream of consciousness, string of words, but it is my confession to you. You are gorgeous, you are handsome, you are funny and sweet and smart, and I’ve thought about marrying you, or wishing you would even think to ask. You are perfect. I wish I could be perfect for you.

Dear Girl

Dear girl,

I still love you. I ask God each night if I should tell you. He hasn’t said no, but he has not said yes either.

Continuing to pray,

Tom