To the lady with the vampire smile,
I’ve probably written this letter one too many times. Maybe I should have written it in French; at least then you might read it and not actually comprehend a word of it. Then again, there’s the delightful Google translate…
Either way, this letter is for you. I guess. (probably a very bad idea, like most of mine)
I love your vampire smile. And your eyes. They glimmer whenever you laugh. Quite a simple thing really. So simple, yet so magical (to me). That smile! I want to claim it is a secret smile, reserved only for me, but I doubt it. I doubt you even know I am writing this about you. You see, I am a writer but not a great speaker. I am not great when it comes to speaking about feelings.
Feelings? I experience them, yes. I usually reserve them for the terrifying, blank, page – so much so I end up crying while writing sometimes, because they just need to come out.
I guess my greatest fear at the moment is that I am feeling this without you. You are not in this equation yet. I like you a lot – I will not rush to the word ‘love’ just yet, to avoid scaring you off – but I have no idea what you think or feel about me.
On one hand, I fear I will prepare, and plan, and then choke, and say nothing.
Then, I fear I will blurt everything out, and you will give me that same smile, but it won’t be the same, because it’ll be saying “sorry” without words. And you’ll mutter something to explain, and I won’t hear a word, because it will hurt, and I won’t be able to breathe for the briefest of moments.
I struggle to breathe when you are close to me, the amorous fascination setting in quicker than the rainclouds.
Is it peculiar that I long to show you that I am broken? I am broken because I care; that’s what I become. Broken, confused, and ever unworthy.
I’m back to feelings. Most of the time, they slumber somewhere deep beneath the surface, but since I met you, they are back with a vengeance. Anger, frustration, attraction, even envy. I envy the cold wind, and even your gloves. I am quite jealous, I guess. In Romeo’s own words:
“O, that I were a glove upon that hand. That I might touch that cheek!”
I want to show you how human you make me feel. Perhaps it is simply the feeling of being able to spend time with you, in comparison to the bleakness of daily routine. I don’t really know what it is, but it feels great.
I’ve been told it shows on my face; in my childish, idiotic smile whenever you approach. I know it is there; I feel it in the sweat that lines my palms whenever you show up and my hands dart to my pockets, because I simply don’t know what to do with them.
I want to kiss you. That much is certain.
Maybe just once will be enough. Then we can move on with our lives. Maybe not. Maybe I will become greedy and addicted, if I know how it feels. I wonder what you will feel like. I wonder how I will know that the moment is the “opportune moment”, that is the right move at the right time.
Maybe I won’t get to kiss you.
As the song goes, “I hope you don’t mind.”
I hope you don’t mind that I can’t quite say this just yet.
I hope you don’t mind that I want to kiss you. I hope you don’t mind that I want to go off script and write silly poems about you, and quote various songs to you, because of the way you make me feel. I hope you don’t mind that I want to howl at the moon, shout it to the world, and whisper it to my pillow. I hope you don’t mind at all.