My Dear,


Why is that after all this time, we can’t seem to move on? For as long as I can remember, we have had a thing, years of flip flopping on feelings and wandering through an endless wheel of disappointment. Not your typical high school puppy love or publicity stunt, but a legitimate connection that seems to be unshakable. You were always someone I found desirable, yet completely…. aggravating. Our minds never seemed to cross the same wavelength and your personality appeared to be the complete antithesis of my own. I could never debunk your thoughts or idiotic actions, as if I was in a constant state of dramatic irony. But I didn’t care. What we have is something that allows these details to fade from thought.

We bullshitted for years, dating the wrong people, looking for something that wasn’t each other. I always lied about how I felt, never completely admitting my feelings, which were everything but platonic. For years, we stayed friends. We fell in love with different people, and eventually, got our hearts shattered. My exes hated you, because they understood, even before I did, that what we had was more raw and real than any relationship I ever had. They saw the threatening force you had on me, knowing that I would drop any other lover for you. But we were always there for each other: to pick the careless shards of my heart off the floor and mend it back together. I guess you just filled in the missing pieces with your own dismembered heart. Finally, we both chased our feelings. We never made it last, but we never got over it; we could never call it quits. Our friendship would never be the same, why not keep trying?

Even now, I see you, and our lives seem so different. You fantasize about a life that would be nothing but appalling to me. My independence and cold heartedness frightens you. No matter where we are though, we always find each other. Whether its six months, two years, or 20 years down the line, we can always pick up right where we left off. Things will never change, but do we want them to?

We will probably never live happily ever after; we will not be the Nicholas Spark archetype, where you run through a crowded airport after me to tell me that you fucked up royally and need me back. No, that’s not how life works, not my life that is. Our lives are not a remake of When Harry Met Sally. We are those lovers, destined by fairytale expectations, to be together, but never for more than a snap of a finger. That doesn’t change that fact how I feel, that the connection we have is something that most people don’t experience once, let alone multiple times. We have a passion that rejuvenates us, that feeds our lustful souls and that perplexes us, as all love does. In the words of Amy Winehouse, love is a losing game, and it’s true. My feelings for you are a ticking time bomb that will eventually scatter my body across this wasteland, until you come around again, and put the pieces back together. That’s the cycle, that’s our story, and I am glad I will feel it forever.

Yours always.