Dear love, -the words I write cannot pen your significance to me.
My thoughts are incomprehensible to describe your inner beauty.
And so my every thought of you I’ve attempted to compile,
In this letter, is my failure to express anything worthwhile.
When I look at your face, oh where do I begin?
Just the thought of your smile and wide grin,
Brings my belly butterflies beating their beautiful span,
Floating petal to petal, eight in total, again and again.
Your strong hands I held that revealed a ragged love past,
Hand in hand, working towards making this modest love last.
Offering each other simplicity was all I could ever ask for,
And a soul to talk to at night when stranded in a downpour.
Looking longingly at the moon, I wondered my little game.
If the mysterious moonlit sky for you and I was the same.
And when the sun shines through the fog in the hazy dawn,
You wanted to ask me to brave the fog on your front lawn.
Oh how I wanted to be there arm in arm in the early morning
And wander aimlessly without any direction, without caring.
How happy we were, it seemed to go on without end,
I thought I had truly found love, and my greatest friend.
The list we made of all the things we wanted to do together
Will likely remain a memory in this little letter forever, however.
If you had just left me to wonder, would I still be the same?
Would my mess of a life be nearly as messy if you never came?
The only way we realize our own loneliness
Is to have it in stark contrast with its antithesis
Staying locked away hours writing the words I write
Waxing reflexive on this page all day and all night
I think it is finally time to end what I held so dear
So I can finally vanquish the very thing that I fear
But now in the present I can finally thank you so much
For what have I learned since we’ve last touched:
I thought I wanted my heart ripped out,
torn to shreds, bled red in my death bed.
What need was there for it after all this?
The fear of being the only one able to hurt you,
was the same fear of you wounding me grievously,
And yet I feel completely deserving of that pain.
I thought I would rather the blow be dealt swiftly,
Lest my heart be able to love again.
It would be better than the cold bitterness I felt thusly,
It once was a dull and pulsating pain,
An aching anxiety that never once could leave me.
The fear of losing you was the only thing that mattered.
Hopeless, helpless, useless: How futile they are
in describing this despair of my loss.
But my true loss wasn’t the loss of you
It was the missed opportunity to change someone’s life.
My true despair I fear is that strange feeling.
So rid me of your memory, for my mind was rushing
with the regret I’ve carried since we last spoke.
I was helpless to help ease our doubts about us,
Useless to sate your needs, appease your anger,
and worst of all, hopeless to ease your sorrows.
It left me feeling unable to be a person again,
when you left me in my misery, in silence.
So I ask you, without you, would I be off better:
With love, or without this undelivered love letter?