Letters to you


3. Letter (III)

Dear you,

You’re so beautiful. I could say it over and over; I want to say it a hundred times, I want to suffocate you with the words and cover your mouth so you can’t ever say you don’t love me any more. I want to see you, I need to see you— I’m a little empty, it’s true, but you tap hidden reserves in me I didn’t know I had. You and I will be like starting over, we’ll make the most of the rest of this summer until winter creeps in and I collapse— even then I’ll pull through whether you catch me or not (I’d just rather pull through holding your hand). You’re stunning: I dream about you all the time and I know you do the same. It’s not only because you say beautiful things to me or that you are a beautiful creature; it’s because you make me feel like a beautiful creature too. You’re a far-off star I want to warm my hands on; you’re black holes and galaxies— I’m not even kidding, I have to go looking outside our solar system for a metaphor big enough for you. You’re spectacular.

I don’t often beg, and never when it comes to love, but— please, please be mine.

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