A Sunken Boat of Letters


"Try to be happy", they say. Like those three little words could help. "Focus on what makes you happy", like those six little words could help. "Help yourself", like those two little words, and actually helping yourself could help yourself.

Well, for me - that is.

What makes you happy. Is there anything in this world that can make you happy and not break you into a million pieces these days?

I remember hugging a pillow so tight I actually pretended it was another person, drowning it in my tears. It was sometime in 2004. Who knew it would be happening again 9 years later. I thought that moment was the loneliest, and saddest of my life. I have never felt as isolated, as detached as I was - until today.

This month, actually.

All those scenes in movies summing up emotions on feeling a lover's skin on yours, and all that passion two people just pass on to each other... no movie, no script, nothing can ever express the way I feel when I'm with you. 

When I look into your eyes, as you attempt to tell me how your day went, and your hands land on my leg, and you make all these hand gestures as if they support your story, those things always make up our conversations. You could tell me anything and it will sound like you're narrating a Fairy Tale or something of that sort.

And when you listen to me? That attentive face you make and that stupid smile that I love so much, it makes it so hard to concentrate or get to the point. Sometimes I even pretend that that's it, that's all there is to my story,  just so I could just kiss you already. I always love the non-existing sound you make when you listen to me. And then you laugh at my silly remarks, or the jokes I try to crack, and I love your laugh. I love your smile, I love how it reaches your eyes, and I love the color of your skin under my dim light. I don't really use that light when you're not around.

And when I'm on your chest, and I can hear your voice through your rib cage, as if echoing the sound of your heartbeat? Ah, nothing will beat that.

And when you say something I don't really agree with, I just look up at you and you answer with "What?" with your judging face mixed with your signature sarcastic smirk that drives me nuts. And I just let it go because, well...you always win me over anyway. Even if I'm right, even if you're being really silly. YOU ALWAYS WIN ME OVER.

And how you tirelessly run your hands up and down my arm, to my waist, or my thigh, and how I can tell you're falling asleep because you slow down, or completely stop.

You know, its these moments you've given me, amidst all my drama, its these moments that make me smile all to myself, a reflection of the happy dancing my heart does at the thought of you.

I still mean it when I said you are one of the very few things that genuinely makes me happy. Everything I told you on your birthday two years ago, I still mean every single thing. I still feel every single thing. 

I look at you from across the room, or wherever we are, and I can't believe how blessed and grateful I am to have so much of you that no one else does.

That's how much I love you.
And yet all this just makes no sense.
There wasn't a word invented for the feelings you have planted in me.

You are my love letter. You are the letter I will never finish writing.

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