A Letter I Wish Wasn’t

Dear              ,

I don’t mean to sound melodramatic but, this is probably one of the last times I’ll speak to you, at length at least; for we both know that this cannot go on. Something, if it hasn’t already, has to give. And so, I may as well go the whole hog; in for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.

Please forgive me for what follows.

During one of the first conversations we had together, you told me that you preferred unrequited love. I can now – with confidence and unhappy experience – tell you that I disagree: knowing that you won’t ever feel the same is poisoning my personality.

Love, it seems, is pernicious.

I am truly sorry for any hurt I have caused you. For what it’s worth – although, now, this value is doubtless slight; not least because you’ve heard it before – this is not who I am. I wish I knew why I project this unhappiness on to you in the way that I do, so that I could stop. I was supremely hurt a very long time ago, and I recognise that in this, and am burdening you with my past; and that is why I must explain myself. Someone who I had been the closest of friends to strung me along for over a year, telling me that they felt the same but never proving it. A perceived disconnect between words and actions plays havoc with me; more than it would to the average person. To be clear, this is not what is happening between us; but the affect it has on me is very much the same. The pain, and faint forever-unrealised hope which, try as I might, I can’t extinguish, eats away at me constantly, and now and again something tips the scales and I can’t keep it at bay and I take it out on you. And you honestly are the last person I want to upset – I want the exact opposite: to look after you and to be the first person you feel you can go to in times of crisis. I am, instead, letting us both down. I would like to think that I am on the whole, a pleasant, caring person and that you know that I care about you greatly. But this back then was a dark time in my life that wrought changes in me which I loathed and look back on now with contempt, shame and regret. I can tell that that cloud is overhead again and so for both our sakes I think I must just come clean and let the chips fall where they may. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.

Truthfully, I don’t even know, entirely, if this is love. Although, I suppose love can take many forms. I will list a few symptoms and let you, if you so desire, decide for yourself. In any case, you will at least know how I feel.

Cliche alert: I miss you when we’re not together. I am forever counting down the days until I might see you again. A little while ago I reached the conclusion that my life is simply relative unhappiness between gigs. If I’m honest, it’s as much wishing away time until I see your face again.

That night in Kingston (I’ve told you already): you were radiant and every time you smiled at me, I ached. I ached because I knew that I could never be the one to make you smile that way. I can’t help but want to be someone who makes you feel electric and whom, for no reason whatsoever, you cannot help but smile at when you see them.

This night told a lot. When I first saw you, you looked so gorgeous that part of me was perplexed: how was I to be around someone this incredible all night and…? I don’t think that there even was a question as such; it was just an explosion of awe.

In fact, this was the second time I felt a desire to kiss you. That awe: I wanted then to be more to you than just a face in the crowd who you happened to know. Now I know that I am not worthy.

The first time, for the record, was that first weekend, when we were somewhere on our way to sleep. I still saw you as a friend then, but at the same time there was something, probably borne from past intimacies, that made me feel that it was just right. Perhaps I should’ve done it and saved us from all this.

The final line on this theme is that there was a time when I thought that I should just kiss you – then I would know one way or another. It seemed to me as if we were both confused, and what better way to figure something out? I hope so much that I am not haunted by this.

You, to me, are beautiful.

In every way. There is nothing you could say to dampen the undiluted joy I feel whenever I am in your company – nor the exhilaration I feel at the prospect.

Is it a sign of something deeper when one is not inflicted with a carnal instinct? Yes, I have twice felt the urge to kiss you; but that has been inspired by some sort of confused romance, on my part, and your own magnetism, of which you have spadefuls. I say this to highlight the fact that this is not simply a physical attraction to be cast aside as and when. You mean far, far more to me than any base urge could account for.

As I have said before; you inspire me – firstly, to write, and for that I am eternally grateful. Secondly, you inspire me to be a better person. Hopefully I may one day meet this notion.

Finally, nothing I say, do or write will ever be enough.

It wasn’t fair to tell you that you (regularly) break my heart. You bear no responsibility for the working order of my internals. It is not your fault that what I long for will be forever out of reach. You do you and that is what I love about you. I apologise for that accusation.

Perhaps now that all of this is out of my system, I may be able to “get over you”, as they say. And if I am so privileged, perhaps you may one day want me in your life as that friend I once was.

You are effervescent with positivity and I am, in the meantime, going to miss you.

I am sorry.

Thank you for the memories.

All my love,

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