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A Love Letter

December 21, 2016

“Write me a love letter,” he said.

“I write love letters to people I break up with,” I said.

“Oh, no, no then….don’t write me a love letter.”

 

I don’t know how this happened, but I can’t get him out of my head. His long face and big brown eyes and weird mannerisms and adorable little high pitched laugh.

He picks on me and teases me and says I’m the girl he’s been looking for.

He cooks and laughs and has a white cat.

And sends me messages that say, “I’m yours.” And my heart melts and I think he’s crazy and I’m scared to death.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks.

“Right here, waiting for you,” I tease.

And now he’s become this person who is in my head every morning, every day and every night. He’s the treat on the other end of the little noise from my phone. He’s this weird Canadian with a persistent need to taunt me and an idea that he might love me.

Write me a love letter, he requests.

How many love letters have I written? To Z, to Renaissance Man, to Pumpkin Patch, to the Persian. What power does a love letter have? What good is a love letter without a receptive soul on the other end of my words? A man who is strong enough to love me as I am and daring enough to let me love him?

Write me a love letter.

The first love letter from thousands of miles away. A sand castle, perhaps built on shared humor, heavy flirting, longing looks and hours of conversation. A form that may glisten in the summer sun before the waves take it back? Or the first words of a story with chapters unwritten, forming in the imagination of fate?

 

 

 

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From → Rantings

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