Twenty Love Letters

Letter one

I sit at my cold desk looking up at the poster above my head. It has been there for many years. Only despite the certain percentage of my dead grandmother gifting it to me, I was four when she gave it to me. It's a rainbow with a cat on it. The society made rainbows seem like bad things. I remember when I was three and drawing rainbows and unicorns and they weren't weird things. They were just art. Beautiful things I loved while growing up. 

I look down at my desk. I have never been in love. Sure, I've had boyfriends. There just wasn't no excitement. No guessing. All predictable. All there to nothing. I knew they'd end. Because love never lasts in my family. My mother was dating a clerk at the coffee shop. My real dad cheated on her when I was a baby. Worse thing was finding out he wasn't my father. So, sidelines are comfy, you get to experience some love. I love watching older people. Hearing their love stories. I remember watching two older couples while I was at dinner, for a cousin's birthday. I watched them. They smiled at each other. Ate and made eye contact. What confused me was that they never spoke. Not once while eating.

I never understood love. I am almost twenty living in my dorm at college. I was the only one in my dorm, thankfully. I had one trusting friend. She was always there for me. She took me to lunch, and when I was quiet, she'd know something was wrong. Maybe she was the love. 

I took my pen out and started writing. 

Dear Future soulmate,

If love exists, then it'd be you. Or perhaps not even a person. I wake up, I love drinking coffee. I love watching the waves at Virginia Beach or the fireworks on the fourth of July. Maybe love isn't said. It's just there. Lingering in the air. Ready to strike. I don't just get butterflies for boys. I get them for rollercoasters. Or school presentations. Or that one time I got in trouble, and I had to swallow the guilt that the butterflies traveled with. Love shouldn't be a word. Love is hurting, and healing. Then repeating the cycle. They're words we plainly say, ways of noticing small things. Like how the way your cheeks will pop when smiling. Or when your eyes twinkle in the light. You can sell these words though. Pop them right into a text and mean nothing as they pass it along. Words are just words. They are like a mothers promise that can be promised. When you first come out the womb everyone can love you. But it'll fade. Love never lasts. It's twisted. Like how vines hang onto houses for support. Maybe that's what love is, support. We appreciate words to be given. And that's okay. Every year. I will write a letter until I find you. And when I know for sure you're mine. I will share my stories, my lies, my hurt all with you. 

-Your future soulmate.