Love letters.

I'm sorry I can't write you a love letter.
No, I don't mean "those" letters.
You know, the ones that involve words like,
You and I, forever, house, children, mortgages,
and occasionally, your parents suck.
Love letters, the type I meant were
the ones where you tell them about a place that you went to
because they love the color red.
Then, you'd tell them about the person that you met recently
and how this person's laugh is similar to theirs.
Letters where profanities and insults were the language of endearment,
and I think, it will probably end with,
"Dude, text me. Why are you writing?"
Letters like these are never long,
sometimes they are a beautifully sculpted essay, using words such as,
flamboyant, combust, dynamic, serendipity.
Sometimes they are a random string of words, like
pizza, hippopotamus, Herbie, smelly, you.
Another thing about these letters is that
it made sense either way because it was written to you,
only you,
with love.

I can't write love letters anymore.
The last person I wrote to stopped talking to me,
and now, I am writing this to you
after deleting 290 photos of me and her at 3 in the morning.
I am not a person who is good with speech, or affection
or love, or relationships.
The only thing that allows me to properly explain the things that I feel
is a pen and paper.
Therefore, love letters, they are a manifestation of everything that I am afraid to say and
even everything that I refuse to say.
When I write to you,
no other thoughts but you will occupy my mind.
You will be my sole muse, my inspiration until the very last word
which is where I sign "Love, Tryphena"
I would use words to paint you like a picture, in hopes that
you would understand how I see you as a human being.
I have a knack for seeing things about people that are not noticed by many,
I'll tell you how you always keep your arms close to your body,
like somehow, you are trying to make yourself smaller or to preserve body heat.
I'll tell you how you always smile differently in pictures, especially the ones taken with me.
I'll tell you that people love you and you shouldn't be with someone who doesn't.
I'll tell you how you always change the topic to something else when it's a question that you didn't want to answer.
Then, to make things worse,
I'll tell you how different I am when I am with you.
I'll give you examples, references, citations, everything to show
how your existence is so important to me.
I'll tell you that you're the last thing on my mind when I go to sleep.
I'll tell you that I am comfortable with you, even when we're both in decade-old PJs.
I'll tell you that I check your "last seen" on whatsapp when I couldn't sleep.
I'll tell you that I never stopped loving you.

If I write you a love letter,
I am giving you my heart, my self-esteem, my self-worth on a silver platter.
If I write you a love letter,
you are given the ability to crush me into a million pieces in the time span that ranges from one millisecond,
to three years,
or more, your choice.
If I write you a love letter,
I am exposing myself to you in a way
that I later will suffer maximum damage from
if you ever plan on killing me.
If I write you a love letter,
I won't be able to take any of it back if you chose to leave,
and I will be left here with all the words that I ever wrote to you,
stuck in the back of my throat.

In spite of this,
if I write you a love letter,
you should know that I must really really love you.

Late night Confessions: 19/6/14, 1.03AM

I cannot see someone being in love with me. I mean, how could they? I'm all fats and stretch marks, frizzy hair and big arms. If they give ratings for puberty, I would say puberty gets a 3, only because it gave me boobs. I grew up thinking that I didn't need love. I grew up thinking that love is equivalent to pain and that to love is to be in pain.

Then, I learn that love is gentle and soft but what would they say when they reach out to stroke my arm? What would they look like when they realized that all they can feel beneath their fingertips are never ending bumps? I cannot see them hugging me tighter or holding me closer when I cry.

I cannot see anyone missing me so much that they cry. I cannot see anyone crying and asking me not to leave. I have never felt wanted or needed. I don't understand why anyone would want me or need me. There are better people around, so yeah, I get it. I was always second, always.

Slowly, you just get used to it. You get thankful when someone remembers your name. You thanked people when they pay a little attention to you and you'd say to yourself, "At least someone noticed me this time." The saddest thing about this is that when someone is genuinely nice to you, you have no idea how to react to it.

Simply, I believe that I am not supposed to be loved or to ever feel love because when I feel it, all it brings is pain. I'd rather be without it.