Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Dear Love:

I am a poet and an artist.

You are my obsession and my quest in life.

It is my heroin. My addiction.

I adore every nuance, every emotion that wells up because of you.  I adore the inspiration it provides and the time I take out of other parts of my life to pursue you artistically or otherwise.

You are most important.

Love is God.

Your servant forever,

My dearest love, 

I wish I could say that I use that term loosely, but I can't imagine that I am.  I think I am forever changed because of you and I have no one else who will be what you are to me.  I am learning that I must accept that I will never be anything more than ...  that one girl, to you. 

I'm sorry.  I really am.  And I'm not apologizing to you. It's just a sad situation.  I don't know how to be what you want, I guess.  I don't think I should have to change to be anything, I would hope that you would just like me.  That is why you contacted me again, isn't it?  You contacted me because you were thinking about me. You missed me.  But then you don't treat me like someone you've missed terribly for over a year.  I don't understand.  I wish you could just tell me instead of being cryptic or lacking communication with me at all.  

The truth is, I can't stop thinking about you.  You always cross my mind.  There's always something there to remind me, and I'm not trying to quote that song, but it's true.  A song lyric, court because of that damn speeding ticket, being with someone else...  All it does is remind me that I'm not with you.  I've always been silly and sentimental with the idea of love and when in love.  I'm not saying I've not been in love before, but for the past few years it's been you.  The fact that it's felt so unrequited might be part of the fact it lingers.  I've never been able to fully explore the opportunity to be with you.  

And I am fairly certain that I'll always do anything for you.  Not that you'll ever ask again, but if you perchance, maybe in another year or two, decided that you missed me, and you asked me to do the same thing that we always end up doing, I would still do it. Love is madness.  And insanity is apparently doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results.  So there it is.  My loyalty, tenacity, and constant pursuit of you has merely led me to this empty place I now sit. Maybe it is pathetic because you really just don't seem to care and I keep doing the same damn thing.  


I am the wave, you are a wall.  I am the storm, you are the calm.  If I could I would be exactly what you need. And I suppose another part of my madness is that I think that I am, and continue to believe you are afraid of something.  And somewhere in my confused and loving heart I absolutely believe that you will realize, someday, how much you need me.   When I am with you, I am calm.  The constant turning over of my mind, the constant worrying, that buzz that never ceases in my normal everyday life...  it's gone merely with your presence.  No. nay... not just with your presence, with that look that you give me.  That subtlety you use to show me that you do feel it, unless you're just incredibly good at lying.   And maybe that's just it.  Maybe your eyes show your lies and not the truth, or maybe I'm just projecting...  I've already told you I know we work differently.  I am lavish in love, doting extravagantly on those whom I choose to love; while you are subtle and sweet.  

I've seen it.  And I want to know the depth of that look, and when I've asked you to tell me, you always say, "another day..." and that day never comes.  

And now, as I sit here, wondering what to do... to let it go, or to actually write you again, and apologize for being too much for you, and asking you again to forgive me.  If you reply, you will tell me again to prove how much I love you.  And I will meet you again, probably in the same place or similar, and things will happen just the same as before, and I'll never get beyond that.  

Maybe that's ok.  Maybe that's just what it is, and where it will stay.  Maybe I should be okay with that.  

Or maybe, maybe after your next deployment, or next career move, or next time you are alone in a park, you will think of me, and want me there.  And maybe, just maybe in those moments you will realize how desperately you desire my company and companionship, and how you desire me to be the one you lean on, to heal you in the ways you've found only I can.  

I'm allowed to love you regardless if this is all just the silly dreaming of a silly lady in love.  

So I will.  Whether you are with me at all, in any way at all... or if I'm nothing to you, I will continue.  I found something in you, something important to me.  And I'm not sure I'm able to let it go.  So I write this letter, in the hopes, not that you'll read it necessarily, but that you'll understand on your own and you'll come back to me again.  Just like before, only better. 

I love you, J.  

You aren't the first, you won't be the last, I assume with the current circumstances, but yes, yes...   I'd do anything for you.  All you have to do is ask.

Peace n' love, always and forever,

Heidi Rose