"But it was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line. I really fucked it up this time didn't I, my dear?"

09 JUN 2008

This date would have just been another birthday to my brother. Though I miss my brother dearly, this post is not about him. 

During the summer of 2008 I wrote a young man over 80 handwritten letters through the mail. About a month or two into the relationship we were forced to part for the summer. I lived north of Kansas City and he lived in the deep south of the great state of Missouri. Before we parted, I stated I would write him everyday-- since I did not know if I'd be able to speak to him over the course of the summer via the internet. It was a rough summer,  moving back into my parents' and working outside in the dreadful heat. We ended up chatting most days via the internet (since my parents had installed wi-fi, which I felt was a way to keep me from asking to use the internet incessantly, and this installment made me very pleased). 

Each night before bed I would pour my soul into these letters, despite the fact I chatted with him every day. I spent most the summer without his voice, without his smell, without his comforting arms and in writing him I felt closer. If one could read the letters, letters in which I hope the said man still has, they would see nothing shy of love and devotion. The whole circumstance was quite romantic, except for the fact I never received any letters. My parents would tell me I was foolish; that I was investing too much time in a boy that didn't feel the same. The fact that this might be true bothered me, but irregardless I had told him I would write him everyday and so I did. 

In returning back to the date above: this is the post mark of the only letter I received back from him. It brought me such happiness. I would read it frequently, and enjoy the smell of his cologne sprayed on a Kleenex. The letter was sweet, and beautiful. I treasured it dearly. (This often happens when you haven't really gotten much of anything from the object of your affections.) I still treasure this letter to this day, knowing that the words contained within it no longer ring true from its sender , but as a reminder of what it felt like to be adored and loved. 

I went to visit said gentleman around the fourth of July. It was a big deal I had gotten the holiday weekend off, since I worked at a historical site that would see a boost in visitors over the holiday. I carefully made plans and I went to see him. I couldn't take being away from him all summer. I missed all of him. In the whole internet chatting I never got to see him, hear him, smell him, etc. All my senses were lacking his presence. The trip made me exceptionally nervous. I purchased an entirely new wardrobe such that I could be seen in a positive light by his family. I enjoyed most of my trip, however his mother never seemed to care for my presence. In fact she never came to like me, a fact that would continue to break my heart. I returned from the trip nervous, as I had felt my impression had not been as good as I had hoped (though I tried very hard to make a good impression yet still be my own). 

During my return my uncle had passed away. My parents were angry with me for my lack of "feelings" for an uncle I hardly knew (along with a few other factors). Upon them leaving for the funeral I had to deal with my boyfriend, whom upon my visiting had enticed his mother to ask him serious questions about me, questions no one dating for three months would readily have the answers for. He nearly broke up with me because he wasn't sure that he wished to put in the work required to marry me, as opposed to someone who had a "peachy perfect background". The break-up wouldn't come for another nine months. 

The letter he sent me that summer was my glimmer of hope in him. A reminder of the glimmer of potential I had seen in him all along. It reminded me of the sweetness and calmness I found so alluring in him. He titled it "In Defence of My Love" (yes he did misspell that word, which is quite odd considering his usual knack for spelling). 

Many things stick out in the letter that I felt he forgot over time. 

"You are both good to and for me."

And indeed I was. I loved him dearly despite gashing flaws to his perfection. This one was particularly endearing (and again forgotten):

"In short, I see no reason not to love, adore, and be just as good as I can be to you. For you are something wonderful in my life Ms. _____."

In the end I wonder if his eloquent words were not half the reason I stayed, and the other half between God and I. 

In conclusion I really hope when he looks back, and I hope he does that he will see through the 80+ letters I wrote how much indeed I was a wonderful addition to his life. If I'm lucky, perhaps some man will come around who recognizes that I would make a wonderful addition to his life, and remember it for a long, long time. 

As for G, I leave you the title to sing.