Unwritten

I wrote you a letter last night… don’t worry it’s not long and nothing’s wrong. I just hadn’t spoken to you in a while and I wanted to see how you were doing. I don’t know if my mom or your mom told you but soon I’ll be moving to a new town, pursuing my career. So I figured while I was still around here, I’d finally return your pennies for these thought bombs you’d never gotten a chance to disarm. Unfortunately the complications of this current situation in which we find ourselves has us not speaking; so I don’t know if I’ll get a chance to tell you the real reasons I’m leaving, and that it’s not you it’s just something I had to do for me. But given all that’s happened if these truths go unspoken between us, who knows where your feelings for me will be residing in four seasons. And rather than continually debating about who was left waiting or who first committed treason, I’ve forsaken my freedom from conversations with my conscience in exchange for scraps of forgotten prayers and promises scribbled and passed out like class notes. So this bleached treeskin inscription I’m sending you is the only proof of receipt I have of a paper thin guarantee made back when we still believed in fortune cookie fantasies like “meant to be”; back when the foundations of our relations were no more than intimations like tracing paper smiles sketched on a canvas where the lines between a greeting meaning a polite “hey how are you?” and a flirty “ooh hey sexy ;)” are undefined; back to dancing around decisions of the admission of our mutual interest in each other or just pretending, feigning indifference. Because who needs affection when all we want is friction to feed this addiction of living in this KY generation. We’re slipping in between the cracks of a nation cemented on the concept of relationships being built on conflict and instant gratification rather than actual communication, no space for heartfelt conversation unless it’s less than 140 characters. As men we’re taught early to never show emotion even in life, love or death. So I wonder if the manner of my devotion is the potion that poisoned the ocean in which our love had first flourished or if never expressing the fears of my own faults became the neglectful hand that left our bonds malnourished. So just in case, i just wanted to say, I’m sorry for never acknowledging your dedication to us. It wasn’t that I didn’t love you enough I was just too cautious to trust, because men fall too and when we do, we resolve to never again get caught off guard. So the only faith we have left is in our armor, not even hope, God, or karma and there’s no control-alt-delete for the mistakes we make so they never erase like permanent markers. So when you asked if I was jealous the truth was the answer was no, but even if I told you what bothered me I’m too stubborn to let it show; so I let it go, I couldn’t let you know, that every time we were apart it felt like my heart was torn to pieces, no safer the flimsy pieces of paper in a rainstorm: My weakness was weakness, and the weak knees you got when we saw each other is nothing to how I felt weekly, when you would leave me and take my other half like the IRS does my tax fees, as I kept falling for the greatest crime of all: when you robbed me blind and ran away with my heart. So now the only way to cross the distance between you and me, and what we used to be is to reminisce, because I don’t know if I’m man enough to actually have this letter sent.