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This is not the love letter You think it is, but it could have been.

I did not want us to be together any more than You did, I just liked to feel the small of Your back, liked talking to You, liked the way You thought I was crazy. You had brought back that wild thumping against my ribcage which made me erratic, made me feel like ripping the dawn from the sky and placing it against the lids of Your eyes. And I was never asking for the world, just the feel of You and Your silence.

So take me back to the little Us tucked under borrowed sheets and I'll let You catch Your breath and cling to my skin and I promise I won't shake it off this time. I will hold You in the same detached way sunlight caresses the earth; close enough to kiss You with warmth, but never enough to burn You. And don't bother with Your words, because they have all been stitched into the scaled parts of me. Because I don't need a broken heart to miss You and I don't need to want togetherness to feel a sense of loss. However small, however inked, however fleeting it may be.

But I can't help it anymore. I want You because I do not know how to Not Want You. Sometimes I wish I could remove this Want, extract it from my veins, but I get the feeling it is not one of those things that is done easily. And it's not that I want You officially, like I want Your Sunday mornings or shiny, plastic promise, I just want to know what You know, want to hear Your stories, to filter through them languidly and get lost in them and the soft synopsis of Your hands. I want You because the thought of You and I, these letters forming those words, they swell and shrink in my chest when I realize what they mean. And I know we can't be anything, I know that, but when has knowing anything stopped me from feeling something? I am not the reasonable, rational creature I force myself to be.

And I want You because I can't have You. Transform me, peel off the bruised canvas and expose the untouchable layer, let me become something unmarred and unblemished underneath You. Brush off my fragile wrappings onto the cold floor and brand Your mutable colors into my skin. I want to run my lips over each atom of You and feel them crackle with electricity under my tongue. I want You so bad sometimes that I don't want You at all, because I know that keeping You would change You into something else, something neither of us want You to be. You're not that type. There are moments when I wish You were, for my own selfish reasons, but I know that it would not be You anymore so I stop wishing. Because the truth is, I want You as You are, but I am scared of wanting you like this because if I happen to slip, happen to stumble and lose my footing, if I collapse into the tunnel of possibility and grab hold of You too tightly, You might fold in on Yourself and disappear without a memory; wither and vanish in my hands. Because yes, I want you, but I can't. That is why this is not the love letter you think it is, but it could have been.


  1. this IS a love letter

  2. who ever it is your writing about its obvious that he or she means something to you even if you won't admit it and i think its very sad to read your writing because i think you want to say something more but you're too scared too

  3. wow. this is amazingly good. AMAZING.

  4. you are an AMAZING writer macy, don't let anyone tell you different but I agree with the anonymous person, your writing makes me sad too. If you like or love or even care about someone you need to let them know you said that to me once haha!!