Dear Lover

Dear Lover,

This is nice, isn’t it? We met, we clicked and now we’ve gone past that awkward “does he/she like me?” phase that drives most of us crazy when you first meet someone you’re into. In other words, we’re in a pretty good place. You make me smile in ways I cannot begin to explain and when we’re together, not even a second I’d want to waste.

But Lover, there are some things you will need to know about me. As our relationship progresses, you will learn things about me, my past and my hopes for the future that may or may not alarm you. Some of these things will not be all sunshine, rainbows and sparkles. So, this is how I will tell you, in this short (or possibly long) letter.

There will be nights when the lines on my palms will not reflect my true age of 24. Yes, there are happy moments, but as you know well, there are also those that are better left untouched. Because you see, I carry my pain in my hands so small that yours easily envelopes them completely when you grasp them while we sleep. Sometimes, I lie there hoping that you could coax the grief I harbor out of my palms and banish them into the dark.

But small as my hands may be in width and length, my pain runs as deep as an ocean chasm; creatures in the dark lurking under 1000 fathoms. They will cut deeper lines into my young palms that tremble so as we wait for the calm to seep in when you lay your head next to mine, our breathing intertwined.

Lover, there will be nights when I will try to warn you to never fall in love with me for I have seen love at its worst. I have seen it start wars, burn cities down and obliterate everything in its path. My instinct to survive will tell me to cast shadows of doubt upon you and build an impenetrable fortress with walls so thick and so tall that none could ever scale.

These are the nights where I will forget that I have also seen love at its best. It is when I will forget that I have felt it like the ocean waves kissing the shoreline; gone for a moment but always coming back. I have seen it bloom in the face of adversity. I have known how its warm caress can shield me from the bitter cold of loneliness. My subconscious is a flurry of childhood dreams about a white picket fence and a rose garden — although these dreams will fall faster than a house of cards on nights when I forget how I have seen love at its best.

Lover, what I have said tonight does not come lightly or at a fair price. I have bared my soul to you and shed tears in front of you because I trust that you will try your utmost best to be there when you can — and you have.

Of course, I do not expect that you will be there every step of the way to pick me up every single time. I would implore you to let me stumble every now and again, otherwise I’ll never learn how to pick myself back up. Remind me that at the end of the day, I am all I that have, but that you will be there to watch me cross the finish line. Remind me about how I don’t have to carry the weight of the world in my palms that were already small enough to begin with. Tell me that you will be there to trace the old lines on my young palms and remind me how I deserve more than I believe.

These heartlines and headlines will overwhelm me occasionally, but remember to be patient and kind, for you know it is in my nature to act the same way around you. Remember that I am only human and I will remember the same of you. Remember that life is not always sunshine, rainbows and sparkles. Cherish our present and never let the past interrupt what we have now or could possibly build in the future.

More importantly, remember how the lines on my palms tell my stories. That one day, when I look down on them, I will be able to pick out the ones that tell ours.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s