A letter

I found this while going through old writings. It touched me so much and reminded me of things I have occassionally forgotten.


How much of ourselves are just stories we tell ourselves in the heat of the night or the lull of the day? How much of the inward vision of ourselves is built from personal vows, as tears are wiped away from eyes or hurt words escape our lips and arms are flailing? How much of that inner image is comprised of childhood wounds, damage and disappointments? How much of our internal character derives from what we tell ourselves we should want? How much room do we allow for our real, private truth, desires and dreams? How much time is allotted for such things on a daily basis? Is there any? If there is time and space allowed for our inner truths it’s not near enough. Our inner child is fighting to get out and play and we keep them behind a solid fence, unable to see our current reality, incase they would cry and kick and scream over the unhappiness which is our lives.

It’s 4am. I only left you 3 hours ago and I miss you already. This deep yearning for another being surprises me. This longing is a scary reaction to your absence, scary because I never really wanted to need anyone. Or did I? The better I get to know you, the more about myself I learn. I have begun to realize that many aspects about myself, I thought to be true, were in fact fictional stories I told myself, to protect myself, to portray a façade of a harder person. But if I’m honest with myself, I never wanted to be that hard person, the person with an inpenetratable soul. I wanted to be open. I ached for the connection. I craved the opportunity to be vulnerable, despite my outwardly notions.

I always dreamed of you. I dreamed of such a bond as we share. I hungered for a worthy partner to spar with, laugh with, cry with and grow with. I always wanted to want someone that I couldn’t get enough of. I wanted to want that someone who couldn’t get enough of me. For a long time, I thought that I wanted too much, that I was being unreasonable. I told myself stories about the need to be happy with what I had. I shushed my nagging gut feelings that there was someone out there for me and sat myself down citing some wise relationship guru, “No relationship is perfect.” Of course, this is true. No relationship is perfect. But some relationships are worth the moon and the stars. That is the difference that escaped me before.

While really asking myself the difficult question, allowing my inner child to come out to play and kick and scream, I tried to understand my core, my personal truths. What is “real” is to me? Who am I really? What do I really want? This was no small task, I assure you. Some truths came more quickly than others. The initial one to pop into my head, “This world is unjust.” This is my first truth. Sad really, that the first idea that popped into my head about the reality, in which I live, is so gloomy. But this was the truth which was most apparent to me, after I closed my eyes and cleared my mind. Deep breath.
However, my second truth came shortly after. Deeper breath and then, “This world is beautiful”. This instantaneous yin and yang demonstrated to me the constant strive for balance I have, and the strive, I think, I share with the world, whatever “the world” may be.
Ok. I have to say, I was pretty impressed with those first two truths. They were solid. They were my inner truths that I based my life and existence on. What other inner truth did I have? I sat for a moment trying to clear my head completely so that my next truth would come to me freely. It wasn’t a moment before it came to me, and I was overwhelmed to tears. If there was anything in this world that was true, I knew it was you and I. Me and you. If everything else in the world came crashing down around my ankles and there was still me and you, you and I, then I would be happy. You are my truth, my touchstone, my reality check. You and I have something together that we could never even dream of apart. You and I share a deep-tissue, heart-wrenching kind of love that is written about in epic novels or passed down from generation to generation to remind people that such a connection can and will really happen. I think we both knew of our potential the first moment we ever met. I remember looking into your eyes and seeing behind them, into you. I remember feeling like you could really see me. I shied away at first. Then you shied away. We’ve both taken our turns in trying to withdrawal, but never really being able to do so. I think deep down we knew our truth. Our subconscious knew of our connection before we did. Somehow, we knew of the power and strength we could have together.

Words are just words. Often they mean nothing at all. If I thought that you didn’t understand or feel my truths, I wouldn’t bother letting writing this to you. However, it’s because you understand and feel my truths, it’s because I know you comprehend all this, even without these words, is why we have us. My truth, our truth. You and I. Me and you.




June 18, 2005