Not a Love Letter
There is so much I want to tell you but I shouldn't because this isn't a love letter. There is so much I need you to know, bleed for you to know, but I shouldn't have you knowing, because this isn't a love letter. There is so much that would need to be avoided, skirted around, because this is not a love letter.
This isn't a love letter because you don't love me, and I'm a coward to leave a painful record of unrequited love, so I should sidestep all the things that scream I love you, and should instead murmur the things I feel I can utter to pacify my raging heart.
My raging heart won't be pacified, however, by anything less than you, all of you, so this is not a love letter because you don't love me, but I'm still writing it because I do, so much so that I can't help it, even though I know I'll overwhelm you, burden you, alienate you with my unconcealed passion.
I'll shed the outer skin, I'll shed all pretense, and all the tears I never cried for you, and I'll write you not about love, but about goodbye, because after reading this letter you won't want to know more, won't want to be near me, you'll be scared away by a me that you never met and won't recognize, a me that is a genius out of a bottle you never meant to open.
Maybe you're already half afraid, you no longer recognize me, you're already withdrawing from this strange and unfamiliar me, who loves you and never told you, and maybe you're also a bit shocked that my passion, my feelings, enveloped you without you noticing, never suspecting, never looking into me long enough to read me, like you're now reading my goodbye.
That's why I never told you, because you never had a look in your eyes, a tilt of your head, a quietness to your body that ever told me you would listen, you were never ready for me to tell you, and so I kept it from you, because you just don't love me. But you will read this letter and you will know, even though I shouldn't tell you, even though I shouldn't love you, even though the things I need to tell you are my own and you don't need to know, you will finally know and be burdened, while I'm saying goodbye.
Goodbye, my lovely. I can't hold back any longer, struggling not to fall over the brink of the maddening turmoil, the furious storm that rages inside me. When I'm near you I fight to remain calm and controlled in a sea of unraveling feeling that I can no longer safely navigate, and it's tearing me apart, the sight of you breaks me, because you don't suffer, you don't know, you don't love me.
Goodbye, sweetheart. I ache to hold you, touch you, caress your face, your shiny hair, so much so that I have to cross my arms over my chest, sit in my hands when you're near, anything that will keep me from reaching out to a soul that is not mine. I dream about kissing you while you obliviously chatter on, and I watch your lips move and can almost feel them on mine, and I'm left so wanting when you place a kiss on my cheek to leave that I just can stand it any longer, and I'm the one who needs to leave, unkissed by your lips, unseen by your heart.
Goodbye, darling. I'm pained, depleted, exhausted, haunted by this unreturned love, by the thought of you with another, by the certainty that you can't be mine. I can't write you a love letter, I just need to write you goodbye. This can't be a love letter, because you don't love me.
Goodbye, my love.
© 2009 Elena.