MR. LETTER WRiTER

I slowly read his letter, the one I once loved. His words sent a remorseful surge through my entirety. I was the root of pain. Ignorance can make us evil, like the bully in a schoolyard. I had stolen his heart and was ignorantly unable to understand the feelings of the deprived. But now it is clear. Now I understand. But you see if he asked for his heart back my clenched fist wouldn’t be capable of releasing it. [[Selfish & Complicated]] I once loved another. He filled my heart with ache and pain that I had never before felt. A pain I wish I could cease with a Band-Aid. I branded myself with his name, assured it entitled me to his love for eternity. [[Reality Check]] He vanished before the eyes relayed the news to my brain & heart. But the Letter Writer was quite different. Respect and love is all that seeped from his soul and I believe he genuinely loved me. Actions speak louder than that noise generated from the vocal chords. [{Words]] He was a personification of genuineness and honesty. Why didn’t I understand that before? Blind to greatness. This letter was filled with his virtue and only revealed what I had been missing. But he used the word never. Never would we ever be together again. But you see, even upon the first time reading this I was in disbelief. In denial of the fact that we would never again have the opportunity to try again. And denial still exists. But he was right about the nature of love. I will love he who has been branded onto my skin and heart. But I have come to understand that we will have many loves in our lifetimes. But love is never enough. It takes much more. The ability to understand has comparable importance. The Letter Writer is capable of what many are not. He does understand me. He understands because he wants to understand. But never will I wander back to the hurt that lies within the other. I have learned to love myself. A relationship with him and loving myself cannot coexist. The Letter Writer believes that we have a friendship but I see so much more. Forever I will have love for the author. The writing of a letter, in and of itself speaks to why. So I may not have his whole heart but I do have a piece of it. I refused to give it back to Mr. Letter Writer. Only when he gives the piece of mine that he holds with his be rightfully returned. We’re even. Love reciprocated.