I needn't explain who you are.
You will never read this, for as long as these letters are under my hold. But, for the purpose of spilling my inner most thoughts, and - hypothetically speaking - you did happen upon this, I can already envision your smirking expression as you read this little explanation. How smug you'd get if your eyes wandered any further down this page.
But as you may suspect. It's you. It's all you.
I know that I am in no position to be so full of greed, though I seek no wealth. I only seek desire. Specifically emanating from yourself. Because now I find myself wondering who you are to me. Where you stand in my life, and what impact you shall leave upon it. At the least, you are very much note-worthy - an important factor contributing to my transition back into what we perceive as the 'real world'. At the most, my world exists in the hues of your eyes. Something I cannot deny, but something I am certainly apprehensive of.
They all disapproved. They tried to warn me about you. Against you: my old friend, my mother. But I would not stand for their accusations of your colourful reputation, because to me - you were a source of wonder, a foundation of my future. An excuse for me to be risky, an excuse for me to seek refuge in a home I was unsure of. A home with little stability, even though you had already expressed how much you wanted to make it so.
You are my reflection, and I find myself drawn to you. Notifying to the elements of myself that resonate within you. All of my sins, all of my vices. You have them too, and for that I can so easily associate myself in your presence, dawdling there - a little lost, but holding up. My shaking fingers reaching out to stem the tremor in your hands, the knowing glint in your eye and the magnified beat of my heart, thumping against a ribcage which threatens to burst in a flurry of pent-up emotions. The biting of my lip, the resistance to roll my eyes, the stubborn locks of your curly hair falling into view and obscuring the path to your eyes. The fathomless windows into your darkened soul, tainted with alcohol and a momentary release from what you were really seeking.
For you were unfulfilled. You had a 'lack'. Like you were always missing something. Perhaps a part of you. And you struggled to search for it, scratching around in rampant actions to try and temporarily sustain it with whiskey or women. Or both in the common cases. Bizarre to some, but I wanted to be the one to empathize with you. Without pitying you in the patronizing manner you hated.
Know now that I would wait for you. For a lifetime and another: as a companion, a colleague or whatever else you, and I, suspected. To begin with, I was vaguely afraid of you, in an unconventional sense. Afraid that your 'vices' would overcome your better judgment, that my peers were right. An inkling that you could possibly hurt me. Emotionally. A repetition of what I used to endure for so long, a reminder of the position I used to dwell in. A moment of 'him' striking across your homely features and frightening me into rejection.
And for a briefness, it did. But you were sorry. You were...so, so sorry.
I remember that everything halted to a comfortable silence. My eyes stinging with the tears I refused to spill in an attempt to maintain my respectability, your own eyes swelling to an apologetic size and boring into my turned back. The reaching for my hand, the way I swiped it away with unintentional malice. The way I cried because whatever emotions I wanted to keep my grasp upon felt like a facade. It was love, that was the facade.
But it was short-lived. All of it. The whole dramatisation of it all. My heart threatening to shatter and you appearing ready to pick up the shards. It subsided because I needed you. I needed all of you. Everyday. To stem my greed and invest my feelings into another being again. A hedonistic one. An unstable one. One looking for salvation, a reason to love again. I believed the words that fell from your devastated lips and I accepted you back, closing the gap between our bodies. The heat of the moment numbed to an innocent embrace, an intertwining of hushed thoughts and unspoken feelings. Before I knew it, I was there again - defending you against the gossip and rumours, running to your aid in your darkest of hours, exchanging stolen glances from across a crowded space.
Because facade or not. I was feeling it again. And it was more real than I had initially anticipated.
