Love Letter

"I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched."

— Edgar Allen Poe

  

Love can make a man do crazy things, foolish things that are out of character and at times leave him wondering if all reason has abandoned him. I have written about such love before, in countless short stories detailing the pangs of unrequited love and its effects on those unfortunate souls who must bear its heavy burden. I have watched as the characters within my stories pine over their beloved, sacrificing both dignity and common sense in the foolish hope of fulfilling their hearts' desire. It all seemed so tragic, so comically absurd, and though I filled the pages of my stories with such frailties of the human condition, never could I fully empathize with their plight, for never had I known the loss of true love that my characters experienced. But then I met you...then I loved you...and then I lost you.

I know that my behavior over the past year must seem strange to you Ornela. When I broke your heart three years ago, you handled your bruised feelings with much more grace and maturity than I have. Never once did you overwhelm me with e-mails or telephone calls pleading for reconciliation; never did you arrive at my home uninvited asking me to reconsider my decision. You handled my reckless treatment of your feelings with dignity and poise because you are an honorable and respectable woman. You did what I failed to do...you respected my decision.

Though my actions have not reflected it, I am not oblivious to how my previous supplications for your affection have been received. During my plane ride to come see you in Boston, I questioned the wisdom of my actions from the time I left Atlanta until the moment we first saw one another at Harvard. I knew that I was forcing my affections upon you; I knew that I was not respecting your wishes to be left alone, but I was so overcome with emotion that my better judgment was clouded. I am not trying to make excuses for my behavior, but I hope that you will at least understand that the reason I have written you so many letters, visited you in Boston, and tried so very hard to show you what is in my heart is because I have been struggling to contend with very strong emotions that I have never before experienced, and in my preoccupation of attending to my own feelings, I overlooked yours. I am sorry Ornela. I am sorry that I have not behaved like the man who once made you smile. The man you have always known, the man you fell in love with is still here...he just let his emotions overcome his better judgment. He let fear dictate his behavior rather than love...and for that I am sorry.

Just before we said goodbye at Logan Airport, you asked me not to call or write you anymore, so I write my letters to you in this online journal instead. Every time I am tempted to speak with you, I retreat to my journal and pour out the feelings that my heart no longer has the strength to contain. I have always felt that I could express my feelings for you openly in this journal without fear of infringing upon your privacy because the choice of whether or not to read these words is yours. Sending you unwanted e-mails forces myself into your life, but when you read my journal you invite me into your heart, where for a moment at least we can be together.

But I am not going to continue writing this journal forever. At some point I must stop because even though I feel so very close to you when I write, forcing these words from my pen is also very painful. Writing you these letters hurts me because I am speaking to a ghost who does not answer. Your voice is forever silent. I can only give my love, but never receive yours. It is as if I am continually dipping my hand into a pot of boiling water to retrieve a gold coin. Although I find my treasure, my hand is badly burned every time. But I keep writing. I keep writing because I believe that you still have feelings for me, feelings that have brought you back to read my journal several times a day, every day, for the past four months since we last saw each other. I believe that you still read my journal because in your heart you know that there is something very special between us. I just believe.

Perhaps we started everything up again too quickly. You told me in your letter back in June that you needed to take things slowly, and you were right...we both did. After so much time apart, we needed time to let our feelings for each other rekindle, to let those feelings grow at their own pace so that we could discover together what it felt like to truly be in a relationship with each other. We began as two friends all those years ago, spending each day learning more about the unique person that had stumbled into both of our lives. At the time I thought we were simply getting to know one another, but I see now that we were doing so much more. We were learning to trust each other. We were building the foundation of a very special relationship that would eventually lead us both to fall in love. I want to build that foundation again Ornela. I want to build a foundation of trust with you so that we can have something wonderful together.

You know how I feel about you Ornela. You know that I love you. The love we had for each other, the love I believe we still have, is that deepest love that I believe only touches the soul perhaps once in a lifetime. You may think my words are overly sentimental, or even patently false, but they are my sincerest and best attempt to describe a feeling I have for you that I have never felt for anyone else in my entire life. I am in love with you. After a year of writing you letter after letter after letter, there is nothing left for me to say...I am in love with you Ornela.