Love Letters that were never sent

I love letters. Happy Valentines Day (and Jesus Christ I still love you).

I don’t think there’s anything purer than love bleeding through ink- that and the entire concept of what letters are.

I mean think about it, you feel so strongly for a person that you willingly choose to capture every emotion and euphoric sensation, to fold, gift, and send to someone. And not to be dramatic but this decline of handwritten letters has got to be one of the most disappointing decisions we’ve made as a modern society. 

Hmm. What a thing to love- what a thing to hold.

I used to write letters to a blue-eyed boy. And I was in love with him. Crazy.

I don’t like to think about it, but he once told me that I was giving him too many letters.

Silly, Silly, Silly- I felt.  My hesitation was quiet, and the feeling came when I least expected it. 

Writing letters is a love language that I was so proud of, and when the spark and excitement of doing so trickled down, it made the idea of writing letters very hollow. Not just to the boy, but to anyone.

Was I too much? Not enough? Too wired and weird? Too sad and loud? Too universally honest about aging?

Time moved slowly in the insult, and in such a prolonged moment, three words rose from the depths of my soul and settled in my heart. “I deserve better.”

My first out-of-body experience.

You know… the kind of sadness that makes you want to be quiet? The kind that makes you want to be alone? Isolated? Far, far away? The kind that makes you reevaluate whether or not being where you are or who you’re with is the right choice.

That’s not sadness. It’s an awakening.

And I think a part of me always knew too.  A part of me knew that I deserved more. Sigh.

I’ve only ever been in love once (and sometimes I think once is enough).

Love is this indestructible force. It seeps into everything.

Maybe I think I should just stop—talking about love. I hope others don’t begin to believe it’s the thing I want most.

This sharing and cosmic connection of passion can sometimes fossilize.

And this is the very thing I fear.

But don’t get me wrong. I’m still full of letters, and I’m still full of love...I’m just a little more cautious.

Sometimes I try to remain stoic and unaffected. I remind myself that I don’t like poetic language. I don’t like risks or galaxies.

But I’m not dead inside either.