Letter of Love

“This is so weird, me writing this to you on my computer. But I do not feel like getting a pen and paper and writing and rewriting because I do not like my handwriting. But, on other manners, I’ve decided to write you and tell you just how I feel about you. I must say, I do not think it’s love… it may be and if it is, then I hope it will soon burn out like a candlewick in the bright hours of the morning. I wanted to say that it is really confusing to feel the way I feel about you. Often, I’ve confused myself on whether or not it is love or lust… or whether it’s neither, just the inevitable fact that I care for you beyond the reach of words. And it’s beyond my mental capacity of understanding. How I feel about you, I think, no word could ever convey what goes through my head or heart every time I even think about you… And hearing the sound of your voice, the sound of your laughter… it sends a cold shock through my body… But it is always in a good way. And the shock intensifies if and when we ever touch. Just the knowledge of you touching me is enough to satisfy my thirst for compassion, even if the way you touch me shows no feelings beyond friendship. And the memories of the way you held me once, the way you kissed me… They make me happy, yet sad at the same time. Knowing that the romance between us would never become more than the feeble spark it was… that fact kills me inside. It is because of the way I care for you so much that I am slowly, but surely, dying inside my own heart. Every day it compels only because I have a will to live in hopes of hearing your voice one last time. In truth, even as bad as I do not want you to know this, I know what I feel for you is love. But it is immeasurably describable. And it amazes me how I could feel this. How someone of my age and my mental and emotional capacity could feel this. But, along with the curse of feeling it, I am cursed with the inability to understand or even slightly comprehend it. I do not understand why these feelings have over taken me, and I understand not why they tend to come into my mind when I least want them to. These feelings are what give me my edge. They are the reason why I am able to express myself so diligently… Not able to express these certain feelings pushes all of the ones I can explain and express to the surface for all to see. But, along other lines of these feelings… it amazes me that I can and do actually trust you when my trust is so hard to give. Never have I trusted another like I trust you. And it confuses me… I do not understand just why I can trust you… And yet, that is another factor that is killing me softly. It’s very hard to explain, and I doubt all of this is even comprehendible, but I wanted to try and express just exactly what I feel and think about you. In truth, I think you are the one person that I could never turn away from… and even through your impurities, I find you perfect. And nothing could ever make me think otherwise. You may hate yourself and you may think that there is nothing perfect about you, but to me, you are, in your entire being, perfect. I know it sounds as if I am idolizing you, mistaking you for Jesus… but no. I do not mistake you for He which hath no sin. But I take you in as someone, even with your faults, there is no way for you not to be perfect. Your faults are part of what makes you perfect. It’s very hard and complicated to explain. You should try to feel these feelings and understanding them rather than reading them and trying to understand them… it is a lot harder. But my feelings for you have never been this strong and it sometimes frightens me. Because I did not know I was capable of caring for someone so much. And I know this will probably damage something between us by my telling you all of this, but I had to try to get it out in the open between us. But, please, give me your word that this will never be under the eyes of another. Please, do not let any other person read this. It is already complicated… and the more people who know about it, the more complicated it will become… I guess this is the end of my incisive droning on about my feelings. Let me conclude it with these final words… I know this is love. Forgive me, I never meant to feel this. And never let this come between our great friendship. Softly, with the sunset, did my feelings go down on these pages. And I hope only in me and these pages will they remain. I love you… and it is ok if you do not feel the same, I would never ask or expect you to. I only wish for our friendship to be what it can be without crossing lines we wish not to cross. Again, I love you…”

That was the last letter I ever wrote to my love… my first love. We never made it past those words and we never tried to rekindle what little spark we once had. It was too hard for him. Although I was more than willing to be with him, he had not the will power to even try. He was very afraid of commitment… Yet, he could have committed to me, he once said, only under the circumstances of us seeing each other on a very often basis. This, at the time, was not possible for me. My father, he didn’t like the idea of letting me have my freedom. He liked to let me do one thing a week, maybe two things, but if it came to guys, he would never let me do it. It was hard for me to maintain any relationship of any sort because of the way he cut short my freedom of exploring. Day after day, I would sit at home, go to work, and go to school. Other than the excitement of going to the local skating rink every Friday, I never got to do much after that. I may have gone to a couple of concerts performed by local bands, but that’s all. I never could see anyone of whom I had a relationship more than once or twice a week, and that’s where my love drew the line. Of course, there was the inevitable suggestion of friends with benefits, but I do not think it would have satisfied my thirst for our relationship to be more. And of course, since we were not in a relationship, it granted him his privileges of a single man… his flirting and scoping privileges. And, since he was my love, it pained me to see or hear about it. And it stirred jealousy in me that I never knew I even had. Yet, I held onto my love diligently. I refused to let go. It wasn’t going to happen. I was in quite the predicament, as my heart fell and my mind soared. It was the inevitable truth that my love wasn’t returned. Even if it had been, it wouldn’t have been obvious. If he had loved me, he hid it very well. Not once did it cross my mind that he would ever love me in return. He was, like it was pointed out, afraid of commitment. And it killed me and still kills me that he was that way. No matter how hard I tried and still try not to think about what could have been, the thoughts always seem to find a way to surface from the depths of my mind. It pains me so to feel this way, knowing that I will never receive the love of which I give. The one person I could and do fully trust with anything in this entire world, anything in my entire being, I could never be with him. It could never happen… because of the incisive way my father refused my freedom. Refused to let me see him. It never fails to amaze me that my father had the mental judgment of a five year old. He never could get past the fact that I could maybe actually care for someone… that these feelings weren’t unthinkable teenager phases. But, no, he could never look past what he wanted. He could never look past his way. Because that was the only way he could ever see. With his intolerable way of thinking he was always right. With his need to make everyone around him that he could, feel the size of a speck of dirt. Nothing was ever good enough for him, not even his own children. And he is the reason my love and I could never be together. He is the reason why I’ve been depressed on umpteenth occasions, why I’ve been as mad as to hurt someone else or myself, why I lock away most of my feelings from everyone, and why I cry at night for some “unknown” reason. But, no, it wasn’t and isn’t just his fault that my love and I can and will never be able to be with one another. It, in part, is my fault. Because of the way I behaved when we were together for the first time ever. I was clingy, attached, and infatuated with him. Even though I have proven to have matured, I think he still remembers the way I used to be when we first started. And he doesn’t want me to feel the same need for him. Yet, even so, my yearning for him grows greater with ever sunrise and sunset. And the knowledge of him, now no longer a single man, but a taken one, it kills me ever so softly. Even though I have given the appearance of moving on, and even though I do care for the one I’m with, my love keeps remerging from the depths of my heart and he refuses to leave, no matter how hard I try to coax him to. Like I’ve stated before, it kills me inside to love him and not have my loved returned. It is like having a very important question without an answer. It has made me believe that love is the greatest, yet worst emotion to ever be imagined. It is a constant rollercoaster that never succumbs to a dull moment. And it can tear your insides apart. It’s not knowledgeable or literate or comprehendible or, in my case, imaginable that someone of my age and mental/emotional capacity could ever feel this great, yet often terrible, emotion. I wish that my love could realize how he destroys me without meaning to. I remember the first time we ever met. It was not too long after my mum and his da had died. I accidentally bumped into a girl who was friends with him. It was nighttime and we were at the local skating rink. He was showing off, as he tends to do. I had noticed him but did not proceed to talk to him until the girl introduced us. We ended up exchanging numbers and keeping in touch until one day at the local mall, he decided we should take it to the next level… only for us to crash into the ground three weeks later. We attempted our fling once again a couple of months later, only to crash into the ground the next day, on account of I left town. Not too long ago, we tried once more. And we crashed again, this time because of my father and the way he selfishly controlled my time with my love. I guess that since three times’ a charm and this charm didn’t work, it is and never will be meant to be. It has made me believe that the saying of ‘if you love something let it go, if it comes back it’s yours’ is not true. My love has come back to me twice and, after all, has left me three times now. So here I am, pained to be even thinking about this, much less to be writing about it. This story has been short, and does not elaborate enough to satisfy all taste, yet it is enough for me. Here ends the story of the predicament of my love and I…