Slurs

Unsent

30 December 2015

Dear -,

I'm aware this letter might take an eternity to reach your heart. Perhaps because it must fly across an ocean, frozen in this season of gloom. Or maybe because writing it was a never-ending process of masochism. I was drained, and so might you be when you will read it, when it will reach your heart.

You were the incarnation of a daydream I have never had. You were thrown in my path by a force seeking revenge for some mistake unknown to me. I have never question the justice of the universe. I surely deserve all this, except, apparently, you. You were forced on me, tenderly. I've caught you and embraced you with all my strength. But soon, you were snatched away with such brutality, and I stood astonished by how easily I was trapped. Needless to say, you needn't feel guilty, the same way I didn't succumb to remorse. Instead I chose to smile, with a bruising lump in my throat.

I know I shouldn't but I can't help but think of all the poems that will go to waste. The world can see them, but, my friend, they're truly as valuable as dust if you aren't the only to read. They are for you. And so are the letters that I've thought of sending yet never have, the ones signed 'could have been yours'. And the letters I would have written, if I weren't me and you weren't you, those ones signed 'all yours', are too.

Now that this weight is off my shoulder, I feel lighter than the leaves, that now I dream of, the ones that could have been ours. What I had felt was certainly not love. I'd call it admiration for a kind soul, some sort of artistic vulnerability I live for. Would you open your heart to a friend?

Hopefully friendly yours, -