Unsendable Love Letters

The Thirteenth Letter

My all,

They say thirteen is the unlucky number, but I don't think I could ever feel unlucky around you. Seeing you, your sweet gaze, your oddly coloured hair, your darling smile, is more than enough to feel lucky. I just wished I could see you more often.

We met up recently and it felt so wonderful, so incredible, my sweet; I have never felt as priviliged as I do when I am near you and have your attention. You hold so much power over me that it sometimes scares me - I would do anything you'd ask, if I knew it would make you happy. If you are sad, I'll be sad, and the same goed for all the other emotions which go on in your beautiful head. When will I be able to let this go - to let you go? I don't want to. I don't want to loose you, yet I have the feeling this is happening all the same. Where are you going, my everything?

Do you miss me, too? Do you miss me, too? Do you miss me, too?

Or even more important: do you still love me, do you still care, why are you neglecting me, ARE you neglecting me, what have I done wrong? So many questions, my love, but an answer is hard to find. I wish I could kiss you, so I could find the answers in your sweet lips; I wish I could hug you, so I could find the answers in your strong arms. I wish I could touch your face, so I could find the answers in your soft skin; I wish I could look into your endless galaxies of eyes, so I could find the answers in your endless gaze.

I don't have the right to speak in this fashion, I know this. I should hold my distance. You are taken, you are not mine. You owe me nothing, I owe you everything, and life owes us both an explanation. It's so empty without you. I feel drained, numb, foolish, dried out, famished, hurt. And yet I would forgive you everything you throw upon me, because I know you can make it up to me with a simple smile, just one word, one gaze. Why can I not create sonnets like Shakespeare, to describe my love for you? Why can I not write poems like Donne or Marvell, to work my way into your heart? All I can do is read them to you, and even that would be wrong, wouldn't it?

Everything is so awfully complicated. I don't know what to do with myself, with these feelings - all I know to do is love you. You. You and no one else. I am wasting my precious time and life on these thoughts and yet I can do nothing else. The worst part is, I have the feeling I no longer interest you, that you no longer like me. Tell me why, my love, and I will move the stars to change it.

Forever yours,
N.