Untitled Letter

...And perhaps one day/Someone will claim/This letter as their own/Til then/The recipient is unknown

I like that you’re a challenge.

Most days I don’t.

But today I take all that my mind could perceive to be wrong and right side up it. Flip it forward. Rotate it turned. To think of you.

To have an excuse to write you.

Write you something that may come off poetic but is really just my feelings spilling over the brim of my fingertips into this soft copy of a hard reality. The one you are a part of.

Don’t leave me.

Even if I tell you to and shout it til your eardrums turn into tambourines and leave you with a ringing in your head. Remember these words instead. Because they are real. They are sincere.

It’s hard to impress a word magician who can lace the wrong phrase with right timing to cause an alarming effect. Belief.

Insidious lies injected into the veins in the brain causing its hearer to believe even the most unlikely story.

Tricking the eyes into forgetting the contradictions of tone and body language.

Believing what they want to hear.

Creating their own reality.

But never forget that it was your words that were the catalyst the caused alternate realities to combine and combust.

I like that you’re a challenge.

I even like writing you even though I know my words may one day find themselves in a line up next to those written or said by other past love interests.

Will you be able to identify mine?  

Will you even want to?

Does growing up having anything to do with forgetting your first love?

Forgetting you have a history and starting from the present to create a future?

Like shooting stars.

Those moments with you are like shooting stars. Moments where I could swear you were trying to impress me. Swiftly putting your arm around my shoulder and drawing me closer to you. And in a brilliant beautiful flash –

they disappear.

It was if we never touched.

Never met.

I long for the amnesia you so conveniently suffer from.

I know it has to change.

Everything changes.

Adjusting to this limbo is not an option because I cannot remain here. But I’ve just learned how to get around in it.

I like that you’re a challenge because I feel right at home. With you I’m not being difficult,

I’m simply being myself.

And perhaps there is much to learn. If I can forgive and be forgiven then maybe you can allow yourself to love and be loved.

Some days I wish you’d forget me.

Most days I want to be unforgettable.

On days when I’m not sure I’m glad that there’s a Creator who orchestrates time according to His design and my say is very very limited.

One day I hope the love we create can be a map not drawn to scale that echos His measurement and be limitless.

If I’m a writer. I don't feel like it most days.

Mostly I feel like I'm wearing the stockings of a dreamer and I keep having to pull them up. Quite uncomfortable.

I like to simply dream away.

What will 10 years from now look like?

Most are afraid to know. But I’m floating on something far above all that and I laugh at the days to come. Because not knowing is the exciting part.

Perhaps it will be you who will reiterate that godly lesson.

It's in God's hands.

As I am.

As you are.

As the future is.

All I can do is trust.

...I don't know what a love letter looks like.

Or even what a poem written to woo you would say.

Or maybe I do and I'm trying to forget because memories like that would only serve to upset my stomach. So if I do know.

If ever I have seen. Then let me rewrite the rules that were used to compose them and create a new standard.

I like you most days. I'll love you always. If ever I say different then you'll know it's only to get a rise out of you. Knowing you you'll keep an even facial expression and you'll answer me with a steady tone. Someone has to keep their head on their body and be logical. But only the Lord knows what will rage below the surface of your cool exterior -

and because I like a challenge

and because I like you...

I should be content knowing that I have the rest of our life together to figure all the intricate details that compose you. And if I don't succeed in completely figuring you out (which in itself is improbable) I will yet enjoy the ride.

Adieu and goodnight. To the knight whose rusted armor I've been employed to shine. Let love be the Ferrari in the middle of this junkyard world.