An Open Letter

To My Dearest,

I know you can’t read this letter, but that’s precisely why I have written it. As you can probably recall, you recently read the poems I had written in the blue book – that’s fine, I didn’t mind at all. It made me a little shy but secretly pleased. This is the same thing, I think. I don’t mind if you find out about this secret, thoughtful place, but I’m not going to bring you here; and if you don’t ever find it, then I am perfectly content with that as well.

I miss you. There is a pain in my chest that I can’t shake out, a deep, twisting ache that I have only felt twice before. Once, for Singapore. The other time, for AC. For places, times, memories and everyone that went along with those things. In Singapore’s case, the food too. But this time, it is for you. I am constantly needing to distract myself because if I have a quiet moment, I realise: by God, this is painful.I was never expecting that one person’s presence in your life could have such an impact, and I think about past times that I have had people like you – like you in Title, nothing more – and wonder if that was how I felt then.

I don’t think it ever was.

This is not the yearning for something I cannot have; not that ache I felt for years, wishing that he would ‘like me back’, knowing that he never would. This is not the twang I felt as he turned away and I watched him laugh, oblivious to the fact that his friendship was all I desperately wanted because there was nothing more he could give me. No. This is not a crush.

Those feelings are irrelevant now; I finally understand what it is like to be loved. You did that, you silly fool, you made me feel that much. You made me believe that I am much more than I ever was, and told me I was being stupid when I thought I wasn’t good enough. Sometimes, I still don’t think I am, but I know that you have faith in me, and that is enough. You carry my heart in your pocket, and I think you still have it with you even though we’re not together – that’s probably why there’s that empty hole in my chest.

I wish you were here. Oh, how desperately do I wish that, above all things. I never understood it before, when people would answer “What do you want most in the world, right now?” with “Him”. I thought they were being idiots, that honestly, there was definitely something better than having a person there beside you right at that second. But if you rounded the corner right now, with those eyes, those hands and arms and cheeky grin, that wonderful musical laugh that tells all of its own secrets, I would never let you go again. I would walk with you through the gardens, and show you my old house and make you smell its beautiful, filthy scent. We would sit under trees and lie on crappy sofas, eat the food and wander the castle. I would pull you into the outdoor pool. You would hate me for it. I would love you still.

There were some kids who had your name, they were in my session with me today. It didn’t have the same ring to it, somehow, and though it was hard – all it did was remind me of you – it was okay, because I enjoy having you on my mind. In truth, you hardly leave it, unless I realise my bones are aching and I need to sit down, and then you come back, a wisp of thought and twisting pain and endless cravings for your touch. We were on the phone. We were on Skype. Both times, I didn’t want to hang up. You are far away and I am once again at the Castle-By-The-Sea, teaching kids at AOC. The summer is beautiful here, you should definitely visit. This place was always magical, but I think having you here would just make it. Just so. Magnificent.

There is much more that I could probably say, but I am running out of time. Instead, have this: a token of my gratitude.

“I’d like to be your preference
and hence
I’d like to be around when you unhook.
I’d like to be your only audience,
the final name in your appointment book,
your future tense.”

John Fuller – Valentine.

With the depth and breadth and width of my soul,

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