I know you hate it when I call you that. Not the kind of hate you have towards mosquito bites or impolite people but a cute, hyperbolic kind of hate. Similar to when you tell me you hate the way you can’t walk by a Sephora without spending money or when I won’t stop staring at you while you’re reading.
Right now I’m imagining you saying, “I hate it when you call me that.”
To which I’ll give you the answer I always give you, “I know. Stop being so perfect and I’ll stop calling you that.”
Now, with this letter in your hands you’ll roll your eyes and look away. Shake your head then drop your eyes back to the paper to continue reading. I’m sure I am quite close if not right on with your actions too. I know you too well, and you hate that also.
Should I get to the point of this letter? Yes, eventually. It wouldn’t be a letter from me if I weren’t rambling on about minute details or nonsensical actions. Like these sentences right here, completely unimportant but I’m continuing to write them. Even by hand, writing them out in pen. Every mistake scribbled out because pencil would make too much sense. I can’t be anyone else than me and this is me, a rambling fool who is tragically in love with you.
I’ve missed you. More than I’ve missed anyone my entire life. I know its ridiculous but I’m not denying a feeling that is so god damn strong that it evokes such passion in me. It’s difficult because it’s the antithesis of your personality.
I’m open and free with everything I love about you. I’ll tell you daily, and I’ve done it. I’ll write you horrid and sappy poetry to express how much I love the way you stare at me. Nothing else but the way you stare at me and what it does to my heart and my mind. You aren’t nearly as garrulous though.
You stare. You twitch your lip. You look away. You utter your seven-word vocabulary and then wait for a reply. That is if you reply at all, sometimes leaving my words hanging there as if there was no need of a response. Some might consider that bitch-y but it was a quirk of yours that I always admired, even if it frustrated me. Only responding to what’s worth responding to. Otherwise saying, “keep me interested or I’m leaving.”
I’ve missed that challenge of you. You never needed me. You never fawned over me. You’re strong, independent, intelligent and the sexiest woman I’ve ever known. But at the same time you’re awkward and dorky as fuck, enjoying dad jokes and quoting Dumb and Dumber or the “cash me ousside” girl. How ‘bou da?
I really do love you. We spent days fucking all morning and it was the most intense sexual experiences I’ve ever had. There are no top three or five spots where I’d rank everyone I’ve ever slept with, they’re all occupied by you. Your body laid out on my desk with your ass at the edge and your leg hooked over my shoulder. The way your eyes rolled back and closed told me everything I need to know about how it felt. All I needed was your skin against mine and it gave me the same feeling.
We’d fuck for hours, literally, and it was almost always in the mornings. It got to the point where I was as needed against your lips as a cup of coffee. Caffeine and sex, both things worth being addicted to. Both things worth waking up for. You turned my lust up to the highest level its ever been for any person I’ve ever known, but it was our nights together that made me love you.
Our nights were when we got to know each other. I teased you and found the limits to which you would accept teasing. This is when we mingled among friends and laughed. Before we knew each other intimately we spent late nights doing trivial things, such as seeing who could type the fastest words per minute (me, but with many more mistakes so you claimed victory). I wonder if you remember that.
At night is when you were weak during your challenge and asked if you should give in. Despite our mutual friends recollection I was the only one who encouraged you to stay strong and not submit defeat. I had faith in you that you would be able to do anything you wanted but that didn’t mean you weren’t in need of support at times.
At night is also when you missed me. You called me on the phone and asked if I was going to stop by. There was a hint of sadness and disappointment in your tone.
“No you?” Was all you said.
I could read the tone in your voice. It was the first time I thought maybe you felt the same about me as I did about you. That was as close as I’d ever get to thinking it but it was enough. Guarded hope that maybe you would say it back one day, and even if you didn’t I’d save the sound of your voice in my mind and replay it whenever I needed reassurance.
Then you were my muse. You asked me what you needed to do to be a muse and I said, “absolutely nothing.”
You were perfect just as you were. The words poured out of me. You inspired something deep within my being and shook it loose from whatever was holding it down. I’ve written tens of thousands of words because of you. I’ve written them for you. I couldn’t have done that if you weren’t the perfect muse. I wouldn’t have been able to do that if I weren’t in love with you.
So now I’m just writing to you out of grief and misery. I’m putting words on paper due to longing and ache. I don’t have you here where I can reach out and touch you. I miss the feel of your breath on my neck. No other fingers slip as perfectly between mine as yours do. There is no hair as dark and consuming that I wish to get lost in like the mane flowing down your back.
I want you to know that I’ve thought of you and I’m continuing to think of you. I hope you see that I’ll never stop, no matter if we’re away for weeks at a time that stretch into months nor if we simply won’t see each other again until this evening. You swallow my focus and it sits in your stomach to be absorbed into the organs that give you life.
I will write to you forever. You’ll never lose your position as my muse. Appointed for life, you can sit on the pedestal I’ve crafted through these spilled words that stain my soul yet make the most lovely pattern. I will unabashedly love you through all time and reality.
Every existence will be spent finding you. There is forever a pull on me towards wherever you are. Gravity cannot compare to the strength in which my heart desires yours.
With everything I am,