It’s been some time since last I wrote, but with Valentine’s Day just gone and the flicker of inspiration from a friend, I thought I would take the opportunity to reach out.
My last letters were wracked with loneliness, and I longed desperately for you. Still, (unsurprisingly), I eagerly await the feel your arms around me, but in time I have – just about – accustomed myself to your absence. (This doesn’t mean that I’d settle for a life without you – please do get here soon!) I’d like to think that this time is well spent; bettering myself and honing my shine, so that I can, when the time comes, keep you warm, just as you deserve.
Anyway, you’re probably wondering what I’m actually here to write about this time around… Nothing particular, in truth; I just thought it could be nice* to share a bit about myself with you.
I’ll begin with a cliché: I’m a delicate soul. Don’t get me wrong; I have the mouth of a sailor (cliché #2), like spicy food (do you?) and can hold my booze (most of the time). But I’ve really been through the wringer – in fact, bullring might be more appropriate – when it comes to love. Please be kind. I promise it will be more than reciprocated.
Following on from this is the issue of (or rather, my issue with) confidence. I’ve always found it wanting. The reasons for this I now, after much contemplation, have a handle on, but I shan’t delve into them here. It is something I struggle with though, and to be entirely honest, your loving me will mitigate this. I know that’s unhealthy, but it’s the truth, and truth is the best any of us can aim for. Physically, my style is more eclectic than slapdash: I probably have more band t-shirts than most (actual) musicians, and I wear them with pride – but I also have smart shirts and herringbone and tweed jackets which I adore. Emotionally, I have learnt to be proud of my interests and abilities (an eternal work-in-progress, mind), but I will scarcely believe that you could ever fancy me.
I love music. A lot. It will forever be my greatest love, after you. I hope you like gigs as much as I do – if so, we have many, many nights of fun ahead of us. I hope also that you’ll be okay with me playing guitar badly.
I am shamefully and deliberately inconsistent with my use of the Oxford comma.
Books mean a great deal to me. Please don’t get upset when there’s no room for things because books are occupying every available space. I swear I’ll read them all someday. More importantly, being able to snuggle up and talk about books with someone I love, and punctuating our talk with kisses, is something of a dream of mine. Fingers crossed it’s a dream of yours, too.
I love to write and I will write you poems. So many poems. So many, in fact, that they may seem insincere; but nothing will be further from the truth. Everything I ever write you will have a bit of my heart in it. If I meet someone who treasures this, then I will be the luckiest soul.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. I’ll end with a promise, not dissimilar to how I ended my first letter.
However long it may take for us to meet, I will make the wait worth it. Never shall a day pass when you are visited by even the vaguest doubt of my love for you.
As ever, I cannot wait to meet you.
* I had a fantastic English teacher at school named Miss Leigh. If memory serves, it was she who told us never to use the word “nice”. As it happens, I was in the cupboard when this demand was made. (Do please ask about this.)