"Unsent Love Letters "
I wrote a love letter the other day. I had been a long time since I had written one - hell, it had been a long time since I last had the desire to send one. And I had been doing so well too. Comfortably single. Focused on work. But sometimes, someone, when I least expect it and usually least desire it triggers that gooey, twitchy, sappy response.
Suddenly, I feel like I've been gut punched.
Boy does that piss me off.
I haven't sent the letter yet, so the object of my affection and reason for my late night outpouring of prose on an airplane (where else) has no idea how I feel.
She may never know.
I haven't decided if I am going to send it. It's a little much. I might need to ease into this. A surprise love letter is like doing a cannonball into someone's emotional swimming pool. Sometimes it's better to wade in.
Sometimes that water is COLD.
I also think that sometimes it's better to just stay out of the pool.
I have a small collection of unsent love letters. Some I really wish I had sent. I so desperately wanted to, but fear, doubt, logic, restraining orders, or large ex-con boyfriends got in the way. So they remained on my hard drive or journal paper. Collecting dust and thoughts of "what if". I end up left with regret.
Some I chose not to send. The letter was more for me than for her. It was an outlet, a way to release the emotional pressure created by love and all those feelings, good and bad, that precede or follow it. Lust, desire, jealousy, affection, infatuation, heartache, loss, elation, ecstasy, etc.
Other letters, I really wanted to send, but I knew better, so they remain with me.
Those are the letters that really get to me. Most of the time, I wish I didn't know any better. Ignorance really can be bliss. Those times, those women, those relationships where I know the outcome already. I know she doesn't feel the same way. I know her heart holds another. I know the letter can only break down a friendship I spent years to build. And yet my heart won't cooperate with my head. It doesn't care. It only knows the love and is only aware of the empty space it so desperately it want her to fill.
Those are the letters I wish I had the courage to send. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. Send it and deal with the consequences later.
But I knew better.
And because I never sent them, I suppose I'll never know if she knew better as well.
