Letter to My Friend (Epistolary Series)

Dear ___,

Oh what I would give to know that you still thought well of me, too. Even a little sign, nothing out-of-the-way or out of line. Just a small gesture, simple but clear and something I could remember on a rainy day. The thing is, I always feel terribly sad letting the people I care about get away. It’s a curse of mine, and it’s a rather difficult one to bear. For an emotional sort like me, it’s hard to stomach the thought that you can’t care for the people you want to care about, because the circumstances no longer allow for it. It’s doubly hard to feel the thrust of caring in the absence of feeling cared about in return. I don’t mean to strike a note of self-pity—it’s not that. But I can’t find the words to relay what I mean. Maybe there’s a way to put it better. Let’s see:

I loved you once and was glad for the chance to have fallen in love. I never regretted it a minute—mostly because you’re a lovely person with a funny heart and a wild brain. How could I have helped myself? But the difficult thing is that I never knew if you loved me, or even liked me, in return. Sure, I could guess and imagine and read between the lines, but the trick of the mind is always a threat, and I can’t be sure except in the way I am sure of many other invisible things—which is to say, I make a choice to trust inside my heart. But sometimes it is nice to have a tangible proof, a sensible token of things. Just to anchor oneself in the world again.

And the thought of passing from memory, of fading from importance, is always a punch in the gut. I’ve said it before—that once the heart loves, it will always love, no matter the shifting shapes and forms; what has entered the heart will always have its place there. I still believe that’s true. But is it true for everyone? Or just for me? The clash of realities is hard to bide, and I don’t know how to clean up the mess.

In other words, I’ve had my say and I haven’t even managed to say a thing. But you will understand the meaning behind my bungled words. For in this awkward way, I have only tried to tell you that I am happy to have known such a person as you—for there is only one—and will always think of you with fond feelings in my chest. Don’t worry, I don’t intend to say that I’m desperately in love and pining for the past. Or that I’ve erected a monument to you in my mind, before which I shed tears of regret for what might have been. Nothing of the sort, I promise. Rather, I just wanted you to know that I’ve always thought you’re grand, and I always will. So you’ve got someone in your corner, cheering you on, remembering with pleasure all your goofy ways and happy to pick up where we left off and continue our game of cards, taking turns revealing our hands, laughing about the littlest things, like an old pair of friends.

Sincerely yours,