The first time was in the summer. Two years ago, I believe. Now, I didn’t know it then, but it was there. Now to be fair, at that time, it was merely a spark, a spark that was struck by the sun glistening off of her chestnut hair. The way it radiated through those thick and wavy locks. Combined with her lustrous smile and coy yet delightful personality, there was no way to resist her gentle clasp around my heart.
Throughout that summer, many conversations, smiles, and laughs were shared in modesty. All of which were laced with quips and jests as if I were some child divulging his affections to his first crush on the playground. I miss those days that we shared basking in the pleasant sun of a summer never forgotten, and I wish they had never ceased. Thinking back, I should have known then.
Then came another, one who would sway my heart away from your honeyed grasp. In the coming months, we would drift apart. Truth be told, the rift that was placed between us was set there to be fair to my then other half. For throughout those brief, yet lengthy months, not a day would pass in which my mind wouldn’t wonder about her. Because I knew, I knew that if I were to remain in contact with this auburn seraph that I would wonder from my then chosen path. In retrospect, this would have been a more fitting path to take.
The second time, would take place in spring. Following the chaotic collapse of what should have never been. But it would be her, of course, that would bring me back around to the light. Her merciful and understanding affirmation that passed through those supple lips on the evening breeze that is her voice. That beautiful delivery of hers, paired with the draw of those bronze tinted eyes, is enough to pull any man out of any obscure hell he may have found himself in. The climax of this season would take place on a rain drizzled morning, fueled by stolen glances and backed with harmless smiles over her delicate shoulder.
Through the spring and summer, we would rekindle what we once had and ignite a brilliant pyre within my heart. This pyre would dwindle as I fell to the hesitant thoughts that would plague my mind. These thoughts that brought with them a belief that I was merely seeing what I wished to be true in order to fill a hole left in my being. A hole left by a great malevolent carrion bird that chose to pick me apart, one ignorant piece at a time.
The third time was in the midst of winter and would take place at a celebration of the season. This time would only enhance that belief of my apparent self fulfilment of a desire for her to become, or better yet, already be, smitten by my innocent charm. A gentle hand placed upon my shoulder followed by honeyed words through smiling lips, would make for the highlight of an evening. Throughout the night my gaze would be drawn to her, beautifully displayed in heels and, if I remember correctly, an off white dress. I may be wrong about that last detail, it may have been gray or silver, either way it brought her to the center of my attention over the extravagant performance we were attending.
So once again it is spring. For a time, I played with the idea of potentially exposing my enamored infatuation. After countless hours of thought, I advised myself against doing so, once again falling to that same hopeless belief. Therefore I decided to cease the pursuit of this chestnut angel. And for a while, it worked. I believed I had forgotten her. Until one day, I noticed the ever familiar and heart-warming glances being made with an obvious attempt at suppressing them. Followed by the delightfully adorable and discernable inner dispute which lead to yet another glance. Each fleeting look drew me in and brought me back to my current state, where my heart shivers like candle light.
So here I am, writing a letter she will never read, in an attempt to put my heart on paper and decipher just what it is that I am feeling. I fear for my wellbeing. I fear that, what I think I feel, is true. I fear that I have fallen helplessly in love. I fear that this fall will be unabated and can end only in a devastating and gruesome collapse. In my fear I only wish, I dream of a moment of clarity in which she comes forth and confesses her mutual affection. But dreams differ from destiny, and I fear I’m destined to fail in this specific battle, only to be left scarred with only myself to blame.
I raged at the sun while the moon and constellations whistled for ke. We walked, we damned pilgrims, to a cenotaph. The thunder had no mercy; angels bade us adieu, punished by sound. Cairns of fiction flummoxed the winfs, held their positions. O, chastened men of ink, battle the sundering force!
S by J.J. Abrams and Doug Dorst
To love someone wholly, and never see them aesthetically nor care too, yet never be able to express this emotion openly, is a catastrophic form of heartbreak that one must live with, with the only chance of freedom from this pain being the desired ones heartbreak. Less you can live with the joy of seeing them happy.