Ms. Something, Ms. Everything

One last creative hold over to try and propel me to make time for more creative writing …

He sat alone in his room after another typical day. The comfortable give-and-take relationship his body had with the 20-year-old mattress helped him wrap his head around his thoughts that constantly tormented him – no – gnawed away at him little by little, like the parasites that eat off large whales while they swim in the depths of the ocean.

He felt trapped in his own emotions, his own world where he knew if he said a fraction of what he wanted to say, it could make his life miserable. But how could things get more miserable? Nothing is worse than wanting something you know you can’t have. Nothing is worse than knowing it won’t happen—your head, friends and even family tell you so. But your heart, ever the liberal idealist, swoops in, pounds a little harder, pumps a bit more blood to your already saturated brain and gives you a glimmer of hope.

That glimmer of hope, that twinge in his heart, makes him pull out a sheet of paper from his work bag and a pen. He decided to write a letter. Maybe that would let him finally sleep, his only escape lately.

Dear Ms. Something, Ms. Everything,

I hope this letter finds you well. It’s been some time since I saw you for more than a few minutes, as situations arise and life takes us all at its whim. I wanted to tell you something I could never say verbally—not ever, even if we were alone—I’m just not all that brave. But for now I’ll give it a shot.

Ms. Something, Ms. Everything,

I’ve always liked you, and while that may be subliminally obvious, there is more to this than a sophomoric “I like you, check yes or no” indicating if you feel the same way.

Ms. Something, Ms. Everything,

It took me so long to figure out exactly how I wanted to convey my feelings. It took me many long trips to work, many hours of thinking constantly about everything. It kills me when you act like someone you’re not—trying to act like others around you. I know what’s in your heart, and I’ve seen you as your true self. It kills me when you keep it locked away beneath power hours and handles of alcohol.

Ms. Something, Ms. Everything,

When my friends tell me stories that inadvertently mention you and how you’ve hooked up with other guys, I say nothing. But behind my stone face I seethe—not simply because I’m jealous, but because I know I could treat you infinitely better than they could ever dream to.

Ms. Something, Ms. Everything,

When we’re all out together and other guys playfully put their arms around you, or joke about past conquests, all I want to do is snap in two. But no one’s to blame, or even at fault—I have no rational reason to feel the way I do. I guess it’s all because of how much I care for you.

Ms. Something, Ms. Everything,

I don’t know what the future will hold. I don’t know how you’ll respond. I don’t even know if you’ll respond to this letter—let alone ever talk to me again. But it was time for me to step out of my shell, a shell I’ve carefully crafted throughout the years, in a small way and finally put my cards on the table. You deserve only the best, and I want you to be happy—whether it is with me or another lucky man.

So this is the end—I hope you have read my letter with an open heart. But in any case, no matter what, I’ll always e here for you, my Ms. Something, my Ms. Everything.

He stared intently at what he just wrote, laying on his stomach now—his mind racing and hands quivering. His rational thought processes were spitting a million reasons into him why giving this letter was an awful idea. His heart could only offer so much resistance to the barrage of “common sense”.

With that, he drew in a deep sigh, carefully folded the letter and placed it in his closet, never to see the light of day or her fingertips. He was brave enough to write the letter, and spill his heart out on the yellow legal pad paper—but he wasn’t brave enough to share. Baby steps, baby steps. Rome wasn’t built in a day—but neither was the destruction of his heart.

He closed the closet door, and with that his innermost feelings, and turned off the lamp above his bed, surely to dream of Ms. Something, Ms. Everything.