So I lay here. I write this letter to you, knowing in my deepest depths that although it is written especially for you, you may never even know it exists. You may never read these words that I have written for you. Written with a bared soul and a pealed back existence. My raw skin like a fire in the wind, ravaging and destroying and painful, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.
So I write for you.
To tell you I think about you. When I lay in bed I think about you. When I ride in the subway on the way to a friend’s birthday party I think about you. When I cry I think about you, and when I smile, I most definitely think about you.
Your name is Love, and it is for you that I write. I can actually say with all my heart, that every breath I’ve ever taken, I’ve taken for you too.
I don’t know for sure what you look like, although from time to time I’m sure I have seen you, held you, kissed you and made love to you. (I can’t be sure.) In the past, time has always revealed that is was not you, Love. It was your best friend, Lust.
She had come again and made me believe that she was special. That she was different. That she was worth the sleepless nights. That she was worth the fear and insecurity. That she was worth the racing heart. And once again she lied.
So I lay here and I write this declaration. I tell you that I am here, and I'm waiting for you and everyday, every breath, I long for you. I long for the moments we will share that we wish could last forever. For the moments we will share that know one else will ever value, moments worth more than all the gold in the world. For those moments I will wake up tomorrow and get dressed. For those moments I will wipe my eyes after I cry. And for those moments I will continue to live everyday to best of my ability. So when you do come to me, I will know that I am a man you can be proud of. A man you are happy to trust yourself with. And I know you won’t be easy, and I know that when you look at my past you may cringe, you may hesitate. Don’t. For the past is exactly that my Love, it is the past. It is through that sordid history that I have become the man I am today. It was through all the fighting and the pain that this heart and resolve was forged. It was through the mistakes and errors that my character was solidified, not in the crime, but in the redemption. For do we all not make mistakes? Do we not all fall and stumble and trip? Do we all not hurt those that do not deserve it, whether intentional or not? Do we not all seek to be redeemed? An absolution given by one we love, is that not the only absolution we really need?
So I write this letter to you. I write to tell you that you are beautiful and wonderful. That in all of your idiotic; nonsensical glory, you are perfect. For you are Love.
And I love you.
From your humble servant, I await your return. – Daniel Dart