A Letter I Will Never Send Because You Still Wouldn’t Understand
To tell the God honest truth, yes, I studied you.
I wanted to learn everything I could about you. Thus, my obsession with the “why” & “how” questions you could—or rather—would never answer.
You kept restricted boundaries on your vulnerability. And as a human with secrets, I can understand why. But I wanted to “get” you, and learn to love you unconditionally.
You always assumed it was the psychology/counselor in me that wanted to learn you—this is false.
It was the artist in me that fell madly obsessed with you.
Unlike any muse I had ever had before, you fed me passion. And I needed to know the circumference of your core.
I meant it when I would call you beautiful—inside and out—you were.
Your remarkable ambition & determination. Expertise in mental math. Unorganized rambles that still made every bit of sense.
Those eyes and the way they would pierce into my soul.
Not to mention the anatomy of your physique is an art of perfection.
Yet your joyous laugh is my favorite memory.
I loved to tickle you because in those moments—
You were free.
You were you.
The you I fell in love with.
This is all stamped in my brain. Haunting my mind everyday.
And I know you loved me.
Your kisses can’t keep a secret.
But it was still impossible for you to feel the pain I felt because you were not in love how I was in love. And no matter what I did, I could never make you love me as much as I loved you.
You wanted me to write about you—wanted to be my source of inspiration.
But you already were.
You were just too damn blind to see it.
You couldn’t grasp my admiration for you because you were too consumed with the idea of being exposed.
But honey you were a work of art to me. A book of words that created my favorite poem.
However, even my favorites lose their value over time—forcing me to write something even better.