A Letter That I can’t Send

To when or whenever you read this letter,

I was organizing my closet a few days ago. Behind the dresser that I had shoved into the closet to make more space in my bedroom I found two photographs. One was was a silhouette painting of an Eskimo that belonged to my grandmother. When I saw it, I wanted to cry. It was the last thing that belonged to my grandmother that I owned. Everything else was lost when I moved from Portland to Charleston. I had moved so hastily and rashly that I hadn’t been able to come to my senses on what to do with things that belonged to me that I couldn’t immediately fit into a suit case. They were just things, I told myself at the time. Memories are so much more valuable and will always be, stuff will always just be… stuff. But I cried all the same when I realized I left behind things that can never be replaced and can never get back. Like an ornament of my first Christmas as a baby sitting on Santa’s lap. So even though they were still things, I still found myself crying into my pillow weeks after I had moved.

My mother never understood. Or she understood but she just didn’t care. If the shoe were on the other foot and she lost the letters my great grand father had written to my great grandmother or many other things she would be bawling on the floor. My mother never showed me any remorse or condolences on what I lost that day. In fact she had the opposite effect, turned her nose down at me and couldn’t believe I was being so contrite. So when I saw that picture, my first thought was of you. Of course it was. It’s been months, probably closer to five, and I still think of you almost every single day. It’s weird because we only knew each other for six weeks, give or take and in that six weeks we barely spent any physical time together. But I knew you’d understand. I knew you’d understand my grief and the feelings that I was feeling. I thought about how you told me about all the amazing things you found in your grandparents attic just shortly before we stopped talking. I knew that you would have been happy for me that I could find something so simple and yet a way to connect to our grandparents, people we loved.

I think that is what I loved so much about you, your compassion and why I not only fell in love so quickly but have the hardest time moving past. You have such an giant heart that felt limitless in how much you cared for others. It made me just kept wanting to know more about you and vice versa. I always hated the way we left things off, so uncertain and yet so clear. With your silence, you’ve made it clear that you don’t want to ever talk to me again and I have been trying to respect that. I don’t try to reach out anymore, you won’t read it anyway and when you do you don’t reply. I feel like I hurt you with my blog entry from March and I always just wanted to talk to you about it. I felt like I accidentally did so many things wrong and not with just that blog entry. There have been so many times after when I reached out where I didn’t want anything but someone to talk to, someone to be friends with. I never wanted to change your life or trick you into something you aren’t ready for. You were someone I felt like with over time could be really close friends with, maybe even my best friend. I wanted to send you stupid memes and find ways to make you laugh. I wanted to watch dumb movies with you and have our own inside jokes but I always enjoyed our serious talks too. I wanted to help you grieve if you would have let me when you lost your grandma. I loved you for you.

It baffles me how one little photograph that belonged to my grandmother can still make think of you. Sometimes I wonder how often you think of me and my guess is that I may come up as a passing thought from time to time that it isn’t the same at all. You had more of an effect on me than I did on you and that’s okay. I thought a lot about it and the truth is is that you never got to see all of me and that’s my fault. I put a lot of my cards on the table but the core of me, what makes me me, I kept close to the vest. I never let you love me, not truly while I let myself unconditionally love you. I can’t be mad at you for not loving me when I never let you. I always wanted you to do your own thing, to always put yourself first instead of focusing on me and I always wanted to highlight/put the spotlight on how special and amazing you are. I didn’t want you to see that spotlight on me and not for the reasons you might think. I might have been self conscious about my body that one time but for the most part I do find myself pretty great. I think I have an amazing sense of humor with the ability to make people laugh and I know how much it is in my instinct to take care of others before myself, at least most of the time. There was still so much of me that I wanted you to see like the relationship I have with my cat Cheddar and how weird he is. I wanted to teach you about the language of cats and what makes them such great creatures. I wanted to go over zodiac charts even if you didn’t believe in them and think they are silly. I wanted to try and convince you even though I know I wouldn’t be successful. I think the biggest problem with me is that while I was showing you who I was, I wasn’t able to because I wasn’t able to relax and a part of me thinks you sensed this or knew it.

Maybe you saw all of this and simply ran because I was someone you could have fallen in love with and you had told me several times that you weren’t ready for a relationship. It wasn’t enough that I said back to you that I didn’t want a relationship either. I said conventional society be damned what they think, what we did was our business, I just wanted to spend time with you. But maybe it still felt like a relationship all the same to you and you didn’t want that. A rose by any other name and the like. Maybe it still felt like too much especially what you were going through and so you ran. This is of course the hopeful optimist of me and not the realist that simply says “girl, he’s just not that into you.” Not having that closure confuses me even as time passes. As months pass. It gets easier but it doesn’t. Maroon 5 said it best, “You rather cover up, while I rather let them bleed.” I think that satisfactorily describes each of us as people. Not to get all horoscope on you (okay yes to getting all horoscope on you), Virgos do hide and cover up. They keep secrets, in fact Virgos can be some of the best people to tell secrets to while Sagittarius’s are all about airing it out and moving on. We don’t do holding in our feelings very well at all and when we do, it comes out in giant bursts while Virgos are masters at the craft of holding everything in. It’s probably why I do love writing so much, especially blogging. I love being able to get all my thoughts and emotions out. I spent the month of June just privately journaling but it’s not the same.

I don’t know how to end this letter that’s not really a letter. I do write it on the off hand cross my fingers that you’ll see it but not with any actual hope anymore. I’ve lost nearly all my hope if I’m to be completely honest. I still dream and like Cinderella says, “They can’t order me to stop dreaming” but hope… is another case entirely. It’s more like a wish. A wish I send out to the universe. Not entirely like the scene from A Secret Garden where they do the magic chant to get Collin’s father back to the manor but not unlike it either, just some where in between. I’ll always believe in magic and a grown up kid living in a fantasy and I’m not unapologetic to it. There will always be magic and I do believe. Not really about this issue where you’ll just read this and want to reach out but maybe because I do believe in magic and have such a vivid imagination, that’s why my mind would want to even write this to begin with. To keep even the smallest of hope alive. I’m not going to stop living my life over it or put my life on hold or pause, I haven’t been but there will always be this little bit of innocence that you said is in me that will always be there. That will always want it to happen. Anyway, there’s always more to say but I’ll write it in my journal, to myself.

With all my love,

Sarah

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