These Words He'll Never See
I've never written a love letter before. Probably because I've probably never been in love, but I guess I'm not necessarily "in love" with you, either. I hardly know you, in fact. But you gave me the best four days (and 3 nights) I've had probably in my entire life, and it's apparently not as easy to let go of as I thought it would be.
I know the way that things are. You made sure that I did before it got too far in. I know I said I would accept the terms you laid out: That when Sunday comes you were going home and away, and you only go where you go and that was just how this was going to be. I promised you I wouldn't get mad if and when you slept with other girls. That's how you roll, and that's how the weekend was going to be and I know that I don't have the right to complain (and I won't). I still wanted it, though, and the rest after that is history I guess. I thought it would be easy to let it go and move on, and for the first month it was. Every once in a while I had to slap my hand and say to myself, "No thinking about him!" but everything was good and I felt refreshed and renewed and attractive.
Then a mutual friend told me that she had been talking to you and you told her that you were interested in me, and I got excited, and realized, almost with horror, that there was something there in my heart, and once I admitted that, there would be no forgetting that weekend. I imagine it's easy for you to jump from girl to girl to girl and not get attached to any of them: Forget their names and faces and move on to the next without a backward glance. Right now I wish that were me: That I could do the same and move on the the next name and the next face and forget yours; Forget the moments we shared and how it felt to be with you when no one was looking and when we were alone together at night.
I wasn't lying when I told you that I never do things like I did with you. No one's ever given me a second glance or wanted to be with me or told me I was beautiful (except one or two really close platonic friends and my family) or even asked me out on a date. I've never been in a long-term relationship of any sort, and, in fact, in the 22 years I've been alive I've been in one relationship and I asked him out and he broke up with me just short of a month because he wasn't sexually attracted to me. Life's put me through a lot of really rough shit and in the end I was the only one there to get myself out of it. I've had a good home life and a great upbringing and no tragic deaths or losses to me, but I've been tried and weathered time-over and somehow made it this far without regretting a single moment.
Sometimes I'm a workaholic and sometimes I'm just sick of the stress and the pressure and want to scream and cry until my eyes are red and my throat is sore and my fists are beat bleeding. I have a terrible habit of holding tightly and dwelling on all of the good moments in my life like they're precious treasure I don't want someone to steal (which is probably why I'm having problems forgetting you). When I get too tired, before the "slap happy" settles in, I have a tendency to become irrational and over-dramatic about stupid things. When I have to pee I have this tick where I announce to everyone "I have to pee" as I make my way to the bathroom, and I don't know why I do it, nor why I can't seem to stop myself from doing it (I'll never announce when I have to poop). I thrive on being busy, but at the same time constantly desire more free time to do the things I want to do (or not do) rather than the things I have to. I'm a horrible procrastinator and I would definitely forget my head if it weren't attached. I also love myself and everything about myself and who I am and who I've been and I'm excited and scared about who I could become as time goes by.
I know that I should take the fact that you're not responding to any of my messages as a HUGE sign that you don't want to talk to me, and that I'm being that annoying girl that couldn't just let it go. I know that I should just stop thinking about it and get over it and log it for the good time that it was for that one weekend and stop hoping for anything more. I know that I shouldn't be writing this letter at all, because it won't do any good and you won't even ever see it. I know that I should stop thinking about you and cut all ties and walk away. That's what you would do. That's what you've done.
But I can't stop thinking about you. I try so hard to just put it out of my head, but it always creeps back up: This desire that I have for you, and it runs all the way inside of me. It's a constant longing for you to be here with me where I can touch you and we can have more nights and weekends and I can learn from you all the things no one else ever wanted to teach me. I don't cry myself to sleep pining for you or write depressing sonnets about my "unrequited love" but if I had to choose any man in the world for myself right now it would be you without a doubt, because I'm curious to see where we could go, who we could be if we only knew each other.
I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm not even really asking you to go out with me. Geographically and economically and time-wise it's probably just not doable and I accept that. I just want you to talk to me. I want to find out who you are and who you've been. I want to find out who and what and where you want to be, and what's at the heart of you. I want to know what your passions are: What you like and dislike and what kind of people annoy the Hell out of you. I want to find out if you're someone I could have an option with someday, even if its years from now.
Mostly, though, I want you to know that if things are rough and you can't find left from right and you feel down and out and lost in a maze of smoke, I would give anything to be able to help you. I care about you, and that's something I'll never be able to let go of. I'll always wonder how and where and what you are. But I wanted to let you know that if you ever just need someone to vent to or listen to you ramble or just be there for you, I can do that. I would do that willingly, because I've been to Hell and I had to climb back with only my own hands to scale the rocky wall up and I can be strong for you, if you'd let me. I have too much strength for my own good and it would make me happy to share some with you.
Even if in the end the only possible outcome is goodbye.
I know the way that things are. You made sure that I did before it got too far in. I know I said I would accept the terms you laid out: That when Sunday comes you were going home and away, and you only go where you go and that was just how this was going to be. I promised you I wouldn't get mad if and when you slept with other girls. That's how you roll, and that's how the weekend was going to be and I know that I don't have the right to complain (and I won't). I still wanted it, though, and the rest after that is history I guess. I thought it would be easy to let it go and move on, and for the first month it was. Every once in a while I had to slap my hand and say to myself, "No thinking about him!" but everything was good and I felt refreshed and renewed and attractive.
Then a mutual friend told me that she had been talking to you and you told her that you were interested in me, and I got excited, and realized, almost with horror, that there was something there in my heart, and once I admitted that, there would be no forgetting that weekend. I imagine it's easy for you to jump from girl to girl to girl and not get attached to any of them: Forget their names and faces and move on to the next without a backward glance. Right now I wish that were me: That I could do the same and move on the the next name and the next face and forget yours; Forget the moments we shared and how it felt to be with you when no one was looking and when we were alone together at night.
I wasn't lying when I told you that I never do things like I did with you. No one's ever given me a second glance or wanted to be with me or told me I was beautiful (except one or two really close platonic friends and my family) or even asked me out on a date. I've never been in a long-term relationship of any sort, and, in fact, in the 22 years I've been alive I've been in one relationship and I asked him out and he broke up with me just short of a month because he wasn't sexually attracted to me. Life's put me through a lot of really rough shit and in the end I was the only one there to get myself out of it. I've had a good home life and a great upbringing and no tragic deaths or losses to me, but I've been tried and weathered time-over and somehow made it this far without regretting a single moment.
Sometimes I'm a workaholic and sometimes I'm just sick of the stress and the pressure and want to scream and cry until my eyes are red and my throat is sore and my fists are beat bleeding. I have a terrible habit of holding tightly and dwelling on all of the good moments in my life like they're precious treasure I don't want someone to steal (which is probably why I'm having problems forgetting you). When I get too tired, before the "slap happy" settles in, I have a tendency to become irrational and over-dramatic about stupid things. When I have to pee I have this tick where I announce to everyone "I have to pee" as I make my way to the bathroom, and I don't know why I do it, nor why I can't seem to stop myself from doing it (I'll never announce when I have to poop). I thrive on being busy, but at the same time constantly desire more free time to do the things I want to do (or not do) rather than the things I have to. I'm a horrible procrastinator and I would definitely forget my head if it weren't attached. I also love myself and everything about myself and who I am and who I've been and I'm excited and scared about who I could become as time goes by.
I know that I should take the fact that you're not responding to any of my messages as a HUGE sign that you don't want to talk to me, and that I'm being that annoying girl that couldn't just let it go. I know that I should just stop thinking about it and get over it and log it for the good time that it was for that one weekend and stop hoping for anything more. I know that I shouldn't be writing this letter at all, because it won't do any good and you won't even ever see it. I know that I should stop thinking about you and cut all ties and walk away. That's what you would do. That's what you've done.
But I can't stop thinking about you. I try so hard to just put it out of my head, but it always creeps back up: This desire that I have for you, and it runs all the way inside of me. It's a constant longing for you to be here with me where I can touch you and we can have more nights and weekends and I can learn from you all the things no one else ever wanted to teach me. I don't cry myself to sleep pining for you or write depressing sonnets about my "unrequited love" but if I had to choose any man in the world for myself right now it would be you without a doubt, because I'm curious to see where we could go, who we could be if we only knew each other.
I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm not even really asking you to go out with me. Geographically and economically and time-wise it's probably just not doable and I accept that. I just want you to talk to me. I want to find out who you are and who you've been. I want to find out who and what and where you want to be, and what's at the heart of you. I want to know what your passions are: What you like and dislike and what kind of people annoy the Hell out of you. I want to find out if you're someone I could have an option with someday, even if its years from now.
Mostly, though, I want you to know that if things are rough and you can't find left from right and you feel down and out and lost in a maze of smoke, I would give anything to be able to help you. I care about you, and that's something I'll never be able to let go of. I'll always wonder how and where and what you are. But I wanted to let you know that if you ever just need someone to vent to or listen to you ramble or just be there for you, I can do that. I would do that willingly, because I've been to Hell and I had to climb back with only my own hands to scale the rocky wall up and I can be strong for you, if you'd let me. I have too much strength for my own good and it would make me happy to share some with you.
Even if in the end the only possible outcome is goodbye.
posted by ~Nightinga£e~ | 9:23 PM
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1 comments
