Dear Lance,
Let me say that, first of all, I suck at writing letters. This is the fourth time I've written this damn thing. Which you could've guessed, but whatever. And because I suck (majorly) at writing letters, I guess my plan is to get straight to the point.
I love you.
Okay, scratch that, I think I have the capability of loving you.
I don't understand love, like, at all. But this trip? With you? I think I've learned more about love in only nine days than I have in all the stupid, lonely twenty years of life. And if there's one thing I've learned -- it's that love is so goddamn fucking contradictory. It makes me so mad.
Like, love is eternal, but also not? And love is earned, but also not? And love can be unconditional, but also not. Love is everything and then nothing, it takes up no space yet my heart feels so full that I worry it'll burst. And when people say heart, they literally mean your heart! Like, its a feeling in your chest, tugging and pulling and grabbing at everything until there's nothing left-- but there's always more!
My point is; I don't love you. Not yet. It's more like I love the fact that you're loveable. And I love that one day I could love you, and that it could be endless. I want to spend time with you, I want to bicker with you and fight with you and laugh at your face but then kiss it. Kiss. As in a lot. I want to get to know you, so that this love can become a reality.
I began this relationship looking at you and seeing only a dork. This stupid kid, this weeb, this anime nerd who I had a couple classes with. And somehow, in the course of, like, one day, I realized that I loved you. Or could love you. Would love you. Might love you. It was like seeing the future. I knew deep down that I didn't really love you-- not yet anyway. That's the key. Because life is so full of possibilities, that 'soon' or 'possibly' can or cannot become a reality.
Do you wanna know what I see now?
I see a guy who gets all that stuff. He gets it even if he doesn't know he does. And this guy I see, behind all his insecurities and his flaws? He's a human. A human who cries, a human who fucks up, a human who gets mad and gets sad, a human who makes mistakes.
I know this letter is long, and I know you're laughing at me for being such a cheese. But one last thing. Let me tell you a metaphor I made up.
Life is like dirty laundry.
I thought this up while fantasizing about all the wonderful laundry you'd do for me. See, laundry is part of the circle of life. You are always doing laundry. You'll be doing it when you're three. You'll be doing it when you're thirteen, when you're thirty, you'll be doing it when you're three hundred-- if you live that long. The point is, life is going to always, always have laundry. Just like making mistakes. Life is going to always, always include making mistakes. But does that make dirty laundry bad? No. Because you do the laundry, wear it for a week, and then wash it all over again. That's just like life. You make a mistake, you learn from it, and sometimes you make the mistake all over again. And that's okay. Because mistakes are meant to be made. And laundry is meant to get dirty.
So please make mistakes. Please. I'm begging you. If you don't you'd be perfect, and what then? You'd be boring, you'd be a block of cement.
I was gonna originally write you a letter to tell you the story of my past, which is not pretty. At all. I was gonna go in depth, it was gonna be angsty, the works. I decided against it though -- I wanted this letter to be happy.
So. I guess I'm done with my letter. I'm really (really) not sure how to end this stupid thing.
So. Will you go on a date with me?
Please?
Yes:
No:
Love,
Keith
