Letters to a Lover
Hallo! I made a mini-series of letters that I wish to send to my taint love. Most are unsent, and most detail my darker thoughts on matters. Read at risk!
No. 1
Dearest,
I decided not to write a poem this time, for I've already written one.
Poems are lovely, they express the deepest desires and convey the strongest loves. Words flow across the page like skilled dancers in ballrooms, the same way ballroom dancers are akin to writers, the fluid motion of ink resembling their dress.
In poetry, words aren’t limited. It can be as lengthy or short as wanted, and by any topics. It doesn’t have to rhyme either.
I’ve written many a poem, most to you, my sweet. But well, will poems express the dark devotions I have to you and you alone? Poem topics escape me easily and I find myself under pressure to write them.
Despite, my poetry puts a smile on your face. If it fills your heart with joy, my heart will follow.
This letter has no prior thought put into it, it was decided on the spot, like second degree murder. Often an act of impulse, an act that results in deep remorse that scars the skin better than a knife ever could.
I’ve committed murder before. Whether it was second degree or third, who knows? But this isn’t physical.
No, I haven’t taken a life. I haven’t become a monster── or, maybe I have? I killed myself.
My likes, personality, hates, etc. It’s all gone because of me.
I hated it all. I hated myself.
Maybe I still do.
But, my darling, you exist and your soul shines so much it makes the sun orbit it. I worship your very being, you strike something in me that for a fleeting moment, quells the hatred inside me.
And for that, thank you,
My love.
People often compare their lust to fire; hence why it’s called a burning desire. I’d say same, but fire is weak. Fire goes out easily. Maybe a little water here, some damp cloth there, and the fire weakens and it’s tamed within a minute. Easy.
Not mine. Not the “flame” that gnaws at my body. Not the candle that refuses to go out in my soul. No, it refuses to leave like the irritating itch in one’s palm, the one they have to use their teeth on.
Not even the sharp canines work on mine.
I thought, and thought, and reflected some more but it’s clearer than the sea at night with the moon as a lover. It’s clearer than raw crystal, clearer than my eye and clearer than her will.
What was clear? Well,
The fact that I needed to be erased from existence, that’s all!
Someday I’d like to ask Death to a dance.
Maybe I’d be too shy, but if my ache for it is vehement enough then perhaps I will work up the courage.
After all, a twirl with Him could bestow the grand gift of a godly boost to a lifespan.
Ironic, isn’t it? That the personification of Death gives Life instead.
In truth, Death is a lonely soul. Conceivably, I’ve never met Him, but this is a fact. Many may try run away, many embrace Him, but not I. No, I do believe I’m nothing more than neuter when it comes to Him. Sometimes I get decrepit and whine for Death in secret, but I do suppose it isn’t my time. If Death wanted a kiss, I would give it. If not, so be it.
Love and Death go hand in hand, I say,
Life and Death? Not so much, contrary to popular belief.
When was the last time someone you hated so much it consumed your very epitome had died? What about someone you loved so fiercely historians would say this should have been the standard for love in your time? Usually, the latter, right?
Death could be called cruel, or even Fate for taking their lives from us. But they’re just doing their jobs. Perhaps you should curse yourself for falling so deeply for them.
I’m not saying that you should never love again, oh dear no. If anything, I should encourage it.
Love.
But if you could choose, love me.
Love me back.
Reciprocate.
Let my desire take you over as it has already enthralled me.
Love me deeply, cry when I am gone.
Let the scars upon your heart reopen, and let them overflow with devotion so much that it oozes out.
Let thoughts of me swirl in your mind until they become whirlpools of just me,
My sweetness,
How kind I am,
Not my insanity that I’ve gained through years of eating myself up inside. No, no, not at all.
But who am I to dictate who you love?
Love who you want!
But if you love someone else before me, if someone else takes priority over me, I fear for them.
Well, I do believe I should move on.
You,
You, who when I wish to write to, words run from me.
I can’t trap your being in metaphors, nor in hyperboles. So I’ll simplify it.
I.
Love.
You.
Easy, isn’t it? However those three words don’t fulfil my quintessence like you do, sweetheart.
Come to me, let me embrace you in the warmest of hugs!
Let me put flowers in your hair! Let me kiss you and tell you it’s alright. Or just let me kiss you.
I’d adore if I could move my lips to yours, let them intertwine as we do. I’d melt if I could hold your hand, frozen in time as we kissed. I’d simply die if I could do that daily.
Kiss me, my love, will you?
After all, you’re the shore that washes the negativity I burn inside. You’re the mother that reassures, you’re the ephemeral feeling that all will be fine.
I know you are.
Know that I love you.
Know that you are forever engraved in my core.
Know that now, I will make sure you don’t forget me.
Know that you’re part of me now.
Why don’t we become one?
Thank you, darling.
No. 2
Dearest,
I fear and I fear and fear some more. Sometimes the fear eats me whole and I’m left shivering on the ground, wishing for a scrap of hope.
I fear many things. Small things, like spiders strike so much horror in me I get left haggard. Or maybe big things, like the concept of Time.
Time; it takes and takes until it has everything it wants and leaves you nothing. I’d associate Time with Greed. Or maybe Gluttony. Either way, it consumes like it has never seen before and it doesn’t share. You have to watch out for it, look around corners, hide your things. Because once Time gets them, it won’t give back. It’s stolen forever.
I tried writing a love letter once. It was filled to the brim with sappy feelings, ones I cringe at even now. Even so, it was heartfelt and I was proud of it. And Time was also proud of it. It took the letter and hung it up the highest on its wall. I thought it was merely borrowing it, so I allowed it. But when I went to collect it, Time held me back with a firm no. Now my love letter is unsent and withering away on Time’s Wall of Stolen Items. I still remember the first line of that letter, “If your love was the sea, I’d drown in it. Not because I want to, but because I can’t swim.”
It’s true, I truly cannot swim. I’ve tried before and it didn’t work out, so now I give up. As with most things. One try and one fail is all it takes for me to forget about it.
I used to believe in superstitions. Particularly those about mirrors, I used to be horrified of mirrors. Rightfully so, I’d say, since mirrors are mysterious.
Is the person staring back at you, truly you? Who’s to say the glass hasn’t warped? What if you could only see your soul, and everything else is a lie?
These are all questions I came up with just now, but maybe I’ll think of them the next time I look into a mirror. Staring into a mirror for too long, though, messes with the mind. Looking glasses are regarded with trepidation. Which causes unease, and your mind starts conjuring up images that don’t be. To mess with you, after all.
Ghosts are also legends I believed in. I still do, except my view is now that they are wandering beings that do not cause real harm. Some are tricksters, some like to do legerdemain. Some act as guiding lights, helping those who they see themselves in. Helping those do what they could never do. But back then, when I was a naïve child, I thought they were all out for blood, and would cry myself to sleep hoping my hallucinations took pity on me.
I did meet a spectre once, believe it or not, though I do think my brain was playing tricks on me. It was a lonely soul, many were afraid of it, but not I. No, in fact it gave me very useful information. I used to chat to it about my woes, and it would give me advice.
Then it gave me its final piece of advice. “Open your heart to that whom you will trust more than ever.”
I did not know what that meant. But I said okay and it left me. If I knew that it would be its last time seeing me, maybe I’d have given it a proper goodbye. Maybe.
The spectre’s name was Kasp.
I suppose it warned me about you, my love, since it’s you who I trust more than ever. I have opened my heart to you. It’s yours for the taking.
Please, do take it. I insist. Perhaps you already have. If you did, I don’t have a heart anymore ── it belongs to you now.
We’re lucky Time didn’t get to it first.
But then again, I’m lucky to have a lot of things.
Like you.
Like your love.
Like the overwhelming pain I feel when you leave.
Please, beloved, don’t leave me again;
Or I may just join Kasp in its quest.
Thank you, sweetheart.
No. 3
Dearest,
I write to you from words drawn out from the very depths of my heart.
I’m stuck in a state of delirium. Every noise is too tumultuous and every step makes me dizzy. At first I considered that perhaps I am overstimulated, but overstimulation is a sensory overload and the only sensory overload I have right now is sound. And sight.
The prattle here is incredibly irritating. I suppose that’s only natural since I am in a school environment, but still, I dislike it greatly.
Do you ever feel an obligation to follow your friends? It’s odd for me. I know sometimes you can just do your own things, and still be with your friends. But I feel the necessity to follow them around. People need breaks, but breaks don’t really exist to me.
I think I’ll drop into a state of hysteria before I reach adulthood. It won’t be surprising to me; I’m almost expecting it. I don’t think it’ll be the crazed, visible frenzy that most think of when hearing ‘hysterical’. No, knowing myself, it will most likely be the quiet, camouflaged mania that kills me and only me from the inside.
Even so, my love, at least I have you to rely on. When eventually I go mad, who will stop me? You, perhaps. I would certainly listen to you if you did. If you held me by the arm, or comforted me, and we were gentle together, I’d be calmed, if only for a little.
Or maybe you’d support me in my madness and we were sinful together. Maybe I’d prefer that.
Remember in my previous letter ── when I mentioned an old love letter? That was actually a letter I wrote recently, to you. I suppose I was too cowardly to admit it. Though I cannot send it anymore, I’d think you’d want to know. For I love you, and think about you oft in your absence.
Every time I close my eyes, you appear. It’s a curse; one that I never wish to get rid of. More of a blessing, actually. I love seeing you, and seeing you even when you aren’t here is a win-win for me. Is it not?
My time is running short. I’m sorry I couldn’t make this longer. But for you, a kiss.
Thank you, lovely.