Love-Letter

When I walked away from you I thought I lost a part of myself and left it behind. I stayed up countless nights wondering what I could’ve done to get back what we used to have. I just wanted to feel your breath on my neck, the touch of your skin against mine while we laid there in the dark planning our forever one more time. I would have given anything to run my fingers through your hair and stare into your eyes, because those eyes? They had a way to see the deepest parts of me nobody had seen before. But I don’t have those nights anymore, really. Sometimes I will hear a song, or pass one of our old spots and have a quick memory.. But I don’t long for those the way I used to. I don’t compare every new person to how great you were in your highest moments or put them on a pedestal when they’re better than you at your worst. You taught me what I deserve and more, and now I only let the best though the door.
Dear Future Wife...#522

I’m so exhausted. I’ve been up since 5am and I’m still going. I think I’ve slept a consecutive 9 hours the past 3 days. My feet and back are killing me. But here’s the thing…I love this job. I am so lucky to have it. Sure, most of my friends are chilling out right now, beer and pool time…movie night…family day…and I’ve worked all weekend. Everything hurts.

But, I think the client is happy with the progress we have made. I’m excited about the results we’ve gotten. And I’ve met some cool new people. Not bad for a few days work.

I figured if I keep this up, it just gets me closer to you. So if you’re working weekends, too, think of it as paying your dues so we can go on spontaneous road trips somewhere down the line. If it were up to me, you and I would be heading to the beach and possibly Disneyland next weekend.

What I want to write to him butnever will

I’m so sorry, this is so wrong. But you have no idea how special you are. I need to tell you. For years now, you have been my favorite person. Everything’s better when you are around, and when you’re not around everything gets so dull. I don’t know why or how, but my heart is set on you. You give me butterflies and talking to you leaves me breathless.
I’ve had several dreams about you. Sometimes different ones in the same night. The feeling you give me is a feeling that no one else gives me. I’ve been in love, but somehow this is different. When you’re around, nothing else excists. I love you, I really do. I’m in love with you. I can go on and on about how I feel for you, but let’s just stop here. What if you’re my soulmate, but I’m not yours?

I hope my absence hits you. I hope it hits you so hard that you can never get back up.
— 

-I won’t be there to help you up anymore.

-m.t.t.

4

“I don’t know how to write love letters,” Frida Kahlo wrote in 1946. “But I wanted to tell you that my whole being opened for you. Since I fell in love with you everything is transformed and is full of beauty… love is like an aroma, like a current, like rain.”

It bothers me that it doesn’t bother you. I’m mad that I’m mad.
—  I wish I didn’t care, but I do, because it’s you.
-m.t.t.
I know you’re afraid of being a failure. You’re not alone - I carry every criticism with me like tin cans rattling behind a newlyweds’ bumper. And who could blame us, when failure is ridiculed at every turn? What’s a newspaper if not a compendium of human failures, punctuated by a crossword? But you are not your mistakes or successes. You are simply a patchwork of memories and perceptions, just as the night sky is a patchwork of starlight from varying bygone millennia. Not good, not bad. Just starlight. Sometimes I feel as though I’m sprinting drastically toward a distant finish line, as though once I cross it, everything will make sense. But I’m forever in that final stretch. Or rather, every time I cross the line, another one appears. It’s exhausting, floundering around to be a perfectionist people-pleaser. Let’s not worry so much about failure. It’s more about journeying, isn’t it? Rather than arriving any place. As a kid, I lived in the now. I wasn’t concerned for the future, scrambling for approval. I could just play. Speaking to you, I’ve recaptured that. And I’ll be there for you, missteps and all.
—  Benedict Smith, Letter #5