That was the first poem I ever wrote about you. We had only just met, but I went home smiling and put my silly hopes into a poem that, looking back, seems more relevant than ever. I seemed to have it right from the start— that who you were and what you are could never be contained, gotten or attained. I wish I could go back and warn myself that I would become one of the poor souls who would try in desperation to get closer to you. But I knew what I was getting into— even then I set my sights on that highest, most unlikely goal of becoming your other. But I had no idea that almost a year later I would be deeper, farther, as hopelessly lost in you as I have become. It makes my whole being smile that we have known each other almost a year. Perhaps in another there will be more stories between us.
But considering the unpredictability of life, I haven’t held out for that— it’s become clear with passing time that anyone, no matter how dear to me, is prone to suddenly disappearing— and so with grateful vigilance I treat every moment with you as if it could be the last, our denouement, another dead end. It is the reason why I hang on to every word you say. Every time you laugh, I try my best to imprint the sound into my brain so that if I am ever far away, and more lonely than I have ever been, your laugh will echo in mine— surely no matter how bad it gets, we’ll still be laughing. I carry everyone with me— but there are voices playing within me that are first to arrive and last to leave. It should be clear by now that you have become one of those voices. That for all the talk of those who try to possess you, I am one who has been thoroughly possessed— to both my delight and dismay. I think often about whether or not we will ever kiss again. I can live with any outcome. But if there was only that one time meant for us, I wish I had said something much different than my dumb expression of disbelief. I would have held you for a moment longer. I would have said,
I have wanted to kiss you for months, ever since I first heard your voice. I would have said anything else— but I was afraid— and amazed— perplexed that someone else could want me the same way I wanted them— blessed just to be near you.
Think that I could write a poem for you every week for the rest of my life. Which doesn’t mean too much— that’s sort of like a magician promising a new trick every day— it might come across as splendid for a while, the mystery of it all piquing your interest, for a bit— until you start to notice the sleight of hand, the false bottoms and invisible string. And someday it occurs to you that a magician will always be up to his tricks, whether you are there or not. I have been writing about you a rather worrying amount, and at times I wonder what for. My perseverance is sometimes poorly placed. Perhaps there truly is a limit to love— but I have not yet found it. Rather than continue to push the boundaries of cordial behavior, I am beginning to think that I must give it a rest, for a while—
“for after we start we never lie by again.”
Been feeling foolish, for thrusting myself into your life in such an unscrupulous manner. Truthfully, if I had known how much I would care for you, I would have thought more carefully about telling you. That said, I don't regret doing so. All regret left me when I next saw you— there was something in your eyes I had not seen before. Maybe it was projecting— it looked like you were looking at me differently. For that I won’t regret. But now I am in the unfortunate reality of being among your crowd of admirers— and caring so much for you that the thought of complicating your life further stings me with the slightest self-loathing. If it’s all I could ever do, I would give you a life of joy, peace and unfettered freedom that you deserve— not because I want you, or because of your dumb good looks or fierce spirit or determined ethic— but because of your heart, your incredible heart, rarest I have ever known. For that, I will always:always believe in you. I know you will someday find yourself living out that life you earned. That you will do what is best and right for you, and let nobody, myself included, tell you what that is. More than anything, I want that for you. No matter where I go, I will be supporting you in that tireless quest.
Soon I will be gone for three weeks, and hopefully it will be invigorating, wonderful and altogether time-consuming. Though I will miss you sorely, it's tough to admit it will be a relief to spend some time away. There is no doubt that I have raised you higher in my imagination than is advisable, though you give me more reasons every time we are together. I have an unruly imagination. Yet I have also seen your imperfections— or the ones you have shown me— and it seems that I am willing to overlook anything that might drive me away from you. That is a fundamental flaw of my own, only lately becoming apparent. You said the other day that you don’t know what love is. For me, love is all I have ever known. Which makes it achingly, searingly and maddeningly difficult to be a casual bystander in your presence. I know it was nothing you asked for, and it's clear I jumped into the water knowing exactly how deep it goes. So I am glad for the reprieve— and hope that when I come back, I will have at least partially succeeded in taming this feral heart of mine. For we both deserve peace, bliss and freedom— the accoutrements of eternal life— wherever we find it. I hope you don’t read too far into this— this is not some veiled farewell, or a formal withdrawal of the flames— they will never go anywhere. There are some things I am terrified to talk about, and am much more in my element here. I wanted to tell you how I’ve been feeling— and with a lot of credit to you, for all the doubts and agonies I have tossed through, I am still enamored with being your friend. No matter the stories in store for us, you are foremost my friend. Even if the oceans rise above our heads, even if the monstrous flames in my heart turn to ice and shatter. I will pick up those pieces, show them to my good friend you, and somehow, I’m pretty sure of it, we’ll find a way to laugh.
love,
kaleb
