A letter I probably won't send.

________,

Your kiss was everything.
Your arms: gentle and strong.
You saw beyond my body.
You were considerate and honest.
You were genuine.

I felt protected and appreciated.
I loved being touched by you.

But the whole thing was cheapened.

Cheapened because we are both willing to leave it there, where admittedly it might belong, instead of looking eachother in the eye. Which I doubt we've ever done. I mean really looked. I could probably dwell in the depths of your eyes forever, but I've rarely, if ever, been given the chance. Either that, or I have and didn't take it. So tell me, how can we be so intrigued and drawn to eachother yet be so removed from the reality of ourselves? Therein lies the problem, I guess.

I have issues. You have issues. Hell, we've all got issues. But using that as an excuse not to give this a chance is cheap. I know I'm not a psychiatrist, but I could prescribe you everything I have. I can't promise a cure or even improvement, but I can promise I'll be all of me for you. There's not much more I can offer.

You want answers, solutions, results NOW. I admit it'd be nice to know where I'll end up, if I'll get that happy ending we all long for. But endings mean the fun part is over. The journey, the pain, the boredom, the uncertainty, the madness - if we've reached the end, it means all of that is over. And unless the end of the road equals me as an old, happy lady sitting on my front porch in a rocking chair with one or more people I love, I am in no rush to get there. Because in not rushing I'll have ensured that my memories and experiences are worth looking back on. In not expecting immediate results - and in their absense, moving on without second thought or glance - I'm allowing for growth.

You've been in the back of my mind for years. I don't know what it is. But the something that keeps you alive inside me is still here, wishing that you might look at me, let me look at you, and realize this just might be worth it.

love.