Fifteen Years Worth

Dear Love,

I've been writing you love poems for fifteen straight years. I've been waiting for your reply, but it never came. I love you too much to give up waiting, so I will wait for your reply for as long as it takes. I hope you read these letters I wrote for you, because this is just about the best and the only thing I know how to express my love for you.

Love, have you been well? Please tell me because even the statice you love so much in the balcony is missing you. I kept it inside the house, so it could survive the rest of the winter. I can't believe that it's been fifteen years since I saw you. I know you don't like it when I'm sad, so I won't make a face that will make you worry.

Fifteen years... That's a pretty long time, isn't it? It doesn't really matter to me though, because, compared to my feelings for you, fifteen years is nothing if it means receiving a single reply from you for all those letters I sent to you.

Since my boss gave me a break for the holidays, I could write this letter for as long as I want it to be. A few minutes from now, it'll be the New Year. I bought a lot of paper from the near by convenience store, so expect a lot of things to read. Anyway, I don't want to waste paper, so let me tell you a story about those fifteen years that I've been writing to you.

The first year, I was reckless. I wrote to you everyday without fail. You can count the first 365 letters I wrote to you and observe that their dates are in order. You can have the whole year stacked up. I licked stamps relentlessly. My brain had already recognized the taste of envelope's glue and I remember the first time my tongue felt tired. I did all those things just to send my heart to you.

Once again, I was reckless during the second year. I was so dedicated into writing those letters that I didn't even know that my house caught on fire. My clothes caught on fire as well, but I didn't notice it until only my shirt collar was left unsinged. I managed to save myself and the plant you hold so dear. The firemen saved most of the house and everything in it, so no need to worry about me. Although, it costed me quite a lot to rebuild the house, but I'm glad that the fire didn't get anywhere near your room.

In the third year, I calmed down a bit. I didn't want something that happened in the second year to happen on that year too, so I tried to observe my surroundings once in a while. Also, just to make sure that I don't lose every word I wrote to you, I published the letters I sent to you in an online journal. The more I published, the more readers I get; but the only person I really want to read them is you.

The fourth year, I became a writer for a magazine. I addressed the social issues and whatever problems society wants to make clear of. Once I became well-known in the magazine's company, I decided to release a poetry collection. Of course, all those poems were dedicated to you. Oh, did I forgot to mention? I quit my job as a salary-man the moment I published my poetry collection. See? I finally get to live my dream as a poet, just like you told me that will someday happen.

Those four years, I've written letters with poetry for you, but not a single day did I receive a reply from you. I was far from giving up on you, so I kept on writing to you and waiting for your reply.

By the fifth year, I became a professional poet. I captivated women, young or old. Those sweet, old ladies sometimes gave me snacks to eat when I opened a stand for writing love letters in the park during Valentine's Day. Younger women also flocked in my stand and asked me to write a letter addressed to them. I wrote the letters for them, but don't you worry. Because of my dedication to you, all those women only became vegetables to me.

The sixth year was a very unlucky year for me and my body broke down from all the stress. I got into a lot of accidents, from a mere cold to a broken rib cage. Don't ask about the broken rib cage, because I know that you already know that I always take two steps at a time when I go up the stairs whenever I'm late for work. I'd already written 2,000 poems by then and the numbers kept increasing the longer I stayed in the hospital. All those letters were meant for you.

In the seventh year, I was in tip-top shape. I even started to engage in extreme sports like mountain-climbing or sky-diving, but never was there a time that I didn't think of you. I  started to compare you to a picture, like how it speaks a thousand words by just looking at it. I brushed off the idea because a thousand words is not enough to describe you. Sounds corny, doesn't it?... But I like it and I know you do as well.

I didn't change in the eighth year; however, I did manage to have a little moderation when it comes to sports. I decided to join the triathlon that year and guess what? I won. They made me say a little speech, but all I said was that I won the competition because of you. Even though you couldn't make it to the event, I knew all along that you were rooting for me.

I've been writing to you for eight years already and still no reply from you. I didn't plan on stopping that time and that thought never once occurred to me. I just waited for your reply, but, more than anything, I hoped you read the letters that contain my love for you.

On the ninth year, I was in an accident while crossing the street. I hit my head pretty bad that time and I had a faint memory of the doctors and nurses running around. Apparently, I got amnesia from the accident. I'd forgotten my own name, my occupation and all those important things you need to remember to identify yourself, but all that I remembered was that I loved you.

My memory didn't come back in the tenth and eleventh year, but I still continued to love you even though I didn't have the slightest clue of who you really are or what you're like. I still kept on writing to you, but there was nothing in the world I wanted more but a reply from you. I waited patiently for those two years and still continued to wait in the following years.

My memory still didn't come back in the twelfth and thirteenth year, but I still loved you. You were all that I had to remind me of who I was. My love for you was what kept me going for those clueless and confusing years I had. I kept sending you those letters, but still no reply from you. I would do anything to receive a single reply from you, a reply saying that you received my letter.

Even by the fourteenth year, my memories still had not come back. I became anxious and freightened everyday. I wanted a single glimpse of you, even if it were just from the corner of my eye. I wanted a single word from you, even if it were just a single "Hello". I was selfish during this year, but I didn't care as long as I knew that you received the love I sent to you.

In the fifteenth year, which is this year, my memories returned. I remembered everything and started to cry. I remembered everything about myself and I remembered how we first met. I remembered how you liked the local bistro in your hometown and hated the one beside the flower shop. I remembered how you always put so much ketchup on your scrambled eggs and how you always made fun of me for being a vampire because I didn't like the taste of garlic. I remembered the time when we went to the hills in the outskirts of town just to satisfy your belief that aliens exists, but we ended up admiring the stars and had an evening picnic. Also, I remembered that fifteen years ago... you died.

You have no idea how thankful I was when I survived the accident I had five years ago, because, if I really did die on that day, your effort to save me from the same accident fifteen years ago would've all been in vain. The moment my memories came back, I went inside the forbidden room, which is the room you used to occupy whenever you were around town. I saw all the letters I wrote to you on your bed. Fifteen years worth of letters stacked up on your bed and none of them were ever opened. I remember the reason why I kept writing to you, even though I knew that a reply from you is impossible. I thought that if I kept piling them up, my letters might reach you. I couldn't see you anymore nor could I ever hear your voice, but I kept on loving you and I still do. I thought that someday we'd meet again, but, as cruel as reality can play, you're not here anymore.

Time flies when I'm writing you a letter. The countdown already finished a few minutes ago; therefore, it's been sixteen years since I've sent my first letter to you. Things may change as the years go by, but my love for you will remain the same. I'm still and will always be waiting for your reply.

It's been sixteen long years and I'm still waiting for your reply...