The Only Love Letter I'll Write

Dear You,

I start this letter not knowing what to say. The purpose is to share my feelings because I'm tired of keeping them locked away in the pit of my chest. Then there is something in me that wants to keep them to myself because I don't think there will be a time you'll understand them, let alone share them. But I want to be honest, as I find lying about what I feel to be thoroughly exhausting. Plus, I feel you deserve my honesty. Even though you haven't exactly earned my heart, I find myself lost in the desire to give it to you anyway. In the event that this letter isn't easily received, or it is and it ends up in your trash, at least I know I was true to you and to myself.

The thing about love is that it doesn't always seem fair. Like the first time I knew. I won't be cliche and say it was the first time we met, taking one look into your grey eyes and feeling all the tingly things. That would be a lie. I promised you truth. In fact, my feelings were far from love for quite some time. Though, I enjoyed our time together, each moment feeling like I had a part of life that was just right even when it wasn't. It was like the day I travelled halfway across the country to be next to you. Do you remember? I surprised you at the celebration of your parents' wedding anniversary. Your mom cried real tears, not the ones she pretended to have whenever she wasn't getting her way. Your father said he knew I'd come, though your mother didn't believe him, Their usual playful banter made me laugh and made you shake your head.

It was the time we had our first dance, and I was very impressed that you wore a suit although you said you wouldn't. I knew I'd likely never see you in one again so an involuntary photo was taken. Unexpectedly you grabbed my hand, taking me to the dance floor with an eye roll. But then, you pulled me close and the memory of me taking your photo disappeared because I was in your arms for the first time. I didn't even know you knew how to dance, but there we were. I don't remember the song that played. Just the scent of your cologne and the eyes your mother gave me as she watched us. Many times did her smile bring me joy but that moment I felt exposed, like the "butterflies" were out there for the world to see. At least the world that was in the ballroom anyway.

You told me you never danced like that before, and I laughed as I admitted I didn't believe you. When you didn't laugh or respond my heart stung. Your arms kept my waist close and I reflected on being twenty-two years old, having never been that close to a man. Two friends and soon-to-be college graduates were having a first together. Looking back, I guess one would thing it was the beginning of an ideal love story.

Then there was the time we sat in the car until almost two in the morning, reflecting over our life stories as if we had decades to talk about. We talked about our first class together, Western Civilization, and how you never thought watching me fall asleep every five minutes could be so entertaining. Then we discussed the time we were kicked out of the library for a heated debate about whether or not the Fast and the Furious films were actually good. We almost revisited the topic until told me your parents were splitting up. I gasped, immediately covering my mouth as you looked down at your hands in your lap. I apologized and you shrugged, twisting your lips in disdain.

I felt terrible, because in my shock about a hundred questions flew out of my mouth. The flex of your veins and pulsing in your temple made it clear you didn't want to answer a single one. You indulged me anyway, telling me that your father was unfaithful and your mother found out. You also said your mother begged you to promise not to speak to him, and despite your rage and curiosity you agreed. The photos you mentioned, I tried not to picture them and was thankful you didn't have the evidence on hand. I apologized again. You refused to look me in the eye and I assumed you didn't want to see my expression of sadness. Not pity, sadness.

Then you grabbed my hand. I stared at it silently, partly thinking you did it to shut me up. Your eyes led me to know better, staring through windshield as though you were waiting for something to happen. It was the first time I ever saw you nervous. I thought it odd, that you could be nervous and angry at the same time. I wanted to joke about it with you in hopes to make you laugh but I refrained. Guilt rested in me because truthfully, I was enjoying the moment and didn't want to ruin it. I don't think we ever sat in quiet that long before, other than the sounds of smooth R&B in the background. There was a warning light flashing in the back of my brain that I tried to ignore. You were sad. Hurt. Betrayed. Naturally in your own way you were seeking some sort of comfort and control and like any good friend, I just wanted to be there for you. As your friend. Nothing more.

The moment I knew I had feelings for you was the day you surprised me at my promotion party, almost a year after the car date. My friends, Jasmine and Leslie, went overboard in the best way feeling slightly more celebratory than I was because I was thinking of my grandmother who was being hospitalized. Everyone in my family was so glad she survived but everyone was on edge. My dad insisted that I still go, that my grandma wouldn't approve of my missing out on enjoying the fruits of my labor. I spent many sleepless nights fighting for the job I loved, and becoming Assistant Editor was one step closer to my dream. I thought you were still away spending time with your mother, but Jasmine and Leslie knew otherwise.

When I caught a glimpse of you standing behind them, my heart jumped and the tears arrived. Your smile was a better greeting than words. The room was riddled with ooh's and aww's as we went to each other. When I hugged you, the embrace didn't resemble that of two friends. I could tell neither of us wanted to let go, but the clearing of a few throats forced us apart. I pulled away, catching your eyes as you gave me your congratulations, and told me you wouldn't be anywhere else but with me. I believed you. Throughout the night there were those stolen glances, a crazy dance in front of everyone, more laughter and a toast. You never liked giving speeches and presentations in college, yet you were the first to acknowledge my accomplishments while sharing memories of our friendship.

We had our first kiss that night on my balcony. You knew you were the first man to ever kiss me. Everyone else left, and I watched you stare up at the moon before I came out to join you. You didn't let me say thank you before your lips pressed against mine. Slow. Sweet. Soft. I never wanted to admit out loud that it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever felt. After our lips separated I was in your arms again, and it felt like the first time we danced. I should have told you then, but I was afraid. I was sure my confession would ruin everything. Plus I knew your feelings about love and romance, how you professed to never fall in love and commit after your parents divorced. For a short moment, I thought we could be different. It was me, the one who would never hurt you. But I kept my feelings to myself, hoping I'd get the nerve again or maybe, you would.

We were different after that. Though the words were never said, they were felt. So I thought. Holding hands became normal. Kisses were something special to look forward to. Solo dates were growing into a routine. People were getting used to seeing us together. But when they asked me if we were a couple, I couldn't give a definitive answer. When they asked if we confessed feelings for one another, my heart ached every time I said no. I convinced myself that you'd open the door for the discussion when you were ready, and that I could be patient with you and instead of scaring you with the words, I'd just show you.

Giving myself to you was an experience I still can't put into words, and if I could there would be too many. It was the opening night of your first art exhibit, a gallery filled wall-to-wall with your work. I watched you mingle and present yourself so smoothly. To say I was proud of you was an understatement. Three of your pieces sold that night. That was the brightest I ever saw your grin. At the end of the night after everyone dispersed, you pulled me close for another of our special kisses. You asked me to stay the night with you, and I never hesitated. I stayed awake most of the night, staring at your bedroom ceiling with your arm across my stomach as you lightly snored. That was the moment I believed you were mine. I no longer needed your words to confirm it. I just knew.

Then as always, life happened. A week after your opening, you had a fight with your father who heard about your success and came to see you. There was a show at the gallery. One of your poetry buddies wanted to host an event and thought it would be a way to support your art as well as his. I tried everything I could to deescalate the situation. Security had to remove us from the gallery, and I thanked God you weren't arrested. You wouldn't let me go home with you, though I expressed not wanting to leave you alone. You kept pushing me away. I tried to understand how I was always the one to be by your side when you needed someone, and that time you wouldn't let me. I gave you your space, vowing to not be a pest but be ready whenever you reached out again.

You never reached out. Days went by. I texted you. I called you. Nothing. I even reached out to a few of our mutuals who said they hadn't seen or heard from you and I panicked. Enough was enough. I went by your apartment and banged on your door with a tear-streaked face. I almost broke the door down when the Mr. Emerson across the hall said you weren't there. I remember being angry that someone saw you, which meant you were okay enough that I could have heard from you. So I sat there on the landing with my back against the wall to wait.

You arrived hours later. Jasmine held your arm against her body, her lips all over your face as you both were climbing up the stairs. When she and I ended our friendship a couple of weeks before, I figured she moved away. Seeing her with you put a pain in my heart that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I rose to my feet slowly, listening to you both gasp when you pulled your faces away from each other and noticed me. I couldn't move, body as still as your face. You weren't you. An emptiness rested in your eyes that I swore to not care about, but I failed miserably to honor that. When you tried to approach me I ran between you both all the way outside. I went to my car and drove home. I ignored every call and text from you, for days.

Two weeks later I saw you sitting on the stoop of my apartment, blocking the door until I agreed to talk to you. In my opinion it was a very pointless conversation. You told me that after what happened with your father, you were lost and angry. You didn't mean to take it out on me, but that I was so close to you and your family that it felt hard for you to be around me. You locked yourself away in your studio most of the time until you started drinking. Jasmine ran into you at some bar I don't remember the name of.

"One thing led to another..." you said, and I tried to push by you to get into my building. I wanted to hide my tears from you. Your apology rang over and over in my mind no matter how many times I prayed to forget it.

Then you said what I needed to hear. You never fully committed to me. We weren't official. You didn't want to ruin what we had. I looked at you and felt the heat in my body elevate. I stormed away before I did something I'd regret. You called out for me and I kept going. The tears I cried into my couch pillow were more than I'd cried the last few years of my life. I begged to understand how we got to that point. I tried to pray the ache away, the memories, the lies. I even prayed the truth away. I wanted to stop the feelings. I needed it all to be a dream. But it wasn't. You and I weren't something special as I once thought.

In the spirit of facing reality, I had to distance myself. I had to erase the you I thought "you" were and accept the "you" that made yourself known. You needed help in a way that I couldn't provide. As much as I wanted to be enough for you, I learned that I was not the problem. We were at the part of our journeys that were to be taken alone. It's painful to admit that. You need to heal without me. I need to see that life exists without you, and that I deserve something real. Limitless. A love without condition. A love that can overcome fear, even if it was just love for myself. To say that I hate you would be wrong. I don't. But you had something good in me. I can't force you to see that, and I can't allow myself to be the punching bag for your pain. I beat myself up so much, believing that somehow it was my fault. I didn't do enough to support you. Perhaps I shouldn't have tried to help or break up the fight. Maybe I shouldn't have waited two weeks to find you. Maybe some of that was true, maybe it isn't.

I write this letter six months after that day, after the last time I saw you. I write this because again, I want to be true to myself. I'm stronger than I was. I'm living the life I dreamed and prayed for, one step away from Chief Editor. My friendship with Leslie is flourishing, in addition to some new friends that have come along. Between therapy and different health regiments I've adapted, my life is pretty beautiful. Not easy. But beautiful. Again, one thing I've learned is that I do not wish to hide or pretend. I have no expectation for this letter other than the hope that you'd read it and hear my heart. I'm telling you this because for one, it's true. Two, maybe somewhere down the line these words can help you see yourself the way I see you. The way God sees you. Maybe these words will help you heal, knowing that you still have the opportunity for love. For joy. For a life that doesn't have to be all tragedy.

So here are the words. Take them however you see fit. Just know I mean it, from the bottom of my heart.

I love you.

Love,

Me