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Letters From Alex™

A collection of poetry and prose.

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Month: November 2019

A room without your voice.

What a terrible sound.

November 12, 2019

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but little did he know, on this abnormally chilly night, that this was just the beginning of his most tragic love story.

p.s. i hope you’re doing well too. i got caught up in thinking for myself that i didn’t bother asking you about your day or how life has been treating you lately. nevertheless, i’m very humbled and glad that i’ve had someone like you in my life. someone that lends an ear when i just need somebody to talk to. someone who understands why i do the things i do and doesn’t think i’m crazy. and someone who doesn’t take advantage of my fragile heart. you know me better than i know myself... and for that, i’m grateful for your existence.

but i’m glad for how things turned out between us. because, i catch myself sometimes walking on this fine line between wishing we could be in each other’s lives, no matter how much it hurts (well, hurts me at least) and grateful that you ignored every single text i sent your way for three whole years. i can’t begin to imagine how painful it would’ve been to be at your wedding— sitting down, watching you stand in front of your soon-to-be wife, the love of your life, as i sit on the sidelines wondering why i was a second choice, someone who wasn’t enough, someone who didn’t meet your standards. and as the clergy says, “speak now or forever hold your peace,” i would’ve bitten my tongue ‘til i bled the words i didn’t dare speak, so long as it meant that i got to keep you in my life. but i’m grateful for the pain you caused on that one night, because pretending to be your friend, putting your feelings in front of my own, and watching you be happy would’ve constantly opened up healing wounds and knowing my past self— i would’ve actually thought i deserved it.

is this what we’ve come to? is this really my destiny? to learn to be without you for the rest of my life? to love you from afar, instead of show you how you should be loved? whether i die tomorrow or in thirty years, “the rest of my life” is subjective. i don’t want it to be this way. i want to wake up next to you, not wake up missing you. sometimes, i’ll wake up dreaming of you, foreshadowing that it’ll be a dark, gloomy day. i still love you. i hate admitting it, but i do. my love for you isn’t the same as what it once was when we met, or when you came back into my life for the second time, but nonetheless, i still love you. i admire your selflessness and your drive to make everyone you love happy, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness. but in that sense, you and i are one in the same because i too put people’s happiness in front of mine and call it love, but i’ve learned over the years that all that does is hold me back from finding out who i am and what makes me content. i just hope you’ve learned that too because you deserve so much more than you think and my biggest ambition for you is that you’re loved the way you deserve to be loved— by her. i just really wish it was me instead.

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