Dearest, Aline

✉️ ― LETTER # 12

April 2015
Monticerra, La Verde

Dear Alexander,

I don't have a single clue as to why you seek interest in my life. I am a mosaic of flaws and mistakes; even the shadow fears cowering behind my body. Even my own family, supposedly valued by culture; deeply connected by blood, failed to offer me what I needed most — love.

My world is a luxury other people wish to obtain. For the ones who are poor, fortune makes everything better. For the ones who need attention, fame makes them great. I am neither. And they would despise me for taking this opportunity for granted.

But let me tell you this: I would rather have liberty over privilege.

My family... they do not have an ounce of affection for me. They do not pity me either. They do not feel any bliss, or remorse, or care, or guilt. What they have is pure indifference. I believe it's worse than hate.

If you are curious, don't worry. It is something I also ask myself. Why? Is it because of the color of my eyes that differs from them? Is it because of the freckles sitting on my cheeks? Is it because I am thin, weak, and pale? Is it because I am not good-looking in general?

Is it because I struggle to get the words right out of my mouth? Is it because I stutter in front of a crowd? Is it because I am clumsy and don't do well with sports?

Or is it because my very existence proves my father's infidelity?

If you remain eager to know more, be my guest. Anne Hathaway is a goddess incarnate; my beauty non-existent. Every day, I carry this low storage brain that cannot pull off sneaky tricks as Sandra Bullock. And my limbs couldn't possibly carry a weight like yours to even throw you off a cliff. Do you understand what I mean? I fall short to qualify as a crush. Your crush, even.

So tell me, what makes me likeable in those eyes?

The chances of ever meeting someone who feels romantically inclined towards me is just beyond what I can imagine.

Yours truly,

Aline