I am terribly nervous and there is a ruckus in my chest but I think that it is time I tell you something.
I am writing this to you after the wonderful night we spent together in that hall with air-conditioning turned up a notch too high and lights that never seem to be wired properly, where you had come up to me with your billowy arms and wrapped me tight in your embrace. I am writing this to you after a year of knowing you, and oh, how sweet it has been to know you.
I do not know when I fell in love with you, but I am.
From the moment I met you, you had already flung your arms wide open to receive me, taciturn, meek, distressingly reserved and all. It was like fitting a dim bulb into a circuit of infinite incandescence. I will admit that the way your heart beat so painfully bright scared me at first and that I was afraid of short circuiting into burnt tungsten, but you were so unabashedly solicitous.
You offered me stories on a platter of profanities and laughter, knowing that my hunger for them is insatiable. You painted the grayest, the dullest of days with spectra of music and jokes, making it seem almost impossible for me to return to my midnights of colorless thoughts and dawns of silent paralysis. I have always been an insomniac, but late nights with you, your wind-swept scent and tobacco breath, huddling over scripts and scores engulfed me in tranquil slumber.
I couldn't look away, couldn't take my eyes off you, and when the times came that I could run to you without hesitation, I did just that. I went back to you over and over again.
You are a terrific conundrum of tethered anguish and solace, a most peculiar puzzle that always seem to grow big enough for lost pieces like me and I am a hopeless romantic in love with the most extraordinary paradox. I do not know how or when, but it is what it is, and I am in love with every bit of you.
Being with you, there is sort of a quiet assurance of a well-placed soul. I think this love will slip and slide but never settle, always growing, always moving, always pulsating, because you are as close to home as I'll ever get.
Love Letter is something new on the blog I am hoping to continue. I have realized that, with writing, I not only hope to tell stories, I hope to share a piece of myself and I believe a huge part of myself is my love for love.
Dear Theatre is a piece written for the personification my university's Performing Arts Club, of which I have written vaguely about before. The photos featured in this are portraits of some of the people in the club taken during rehearsal sessions.
If you could write a love letter for a collective of people, who would it be for?