I love you.
I wish.. I wish I didn’t love you. But no! That’s a lie. Loving you, even though it’s not reciprocated in the way I most desire, it’s no chore and it’s no pain, because you haven’t, and you never will reject me.
The years that have passed between us as I slowly became me, the woman you now see before you, have passed in such easy friendship; a family friendship that we are both too sensible to ruin with impetuous actions whether caused by inebriation or intoxication. No. We, adults, though still so young have now passed those hedonistic days and left them but a long shadow in the grass, not forgotten but they are behind us and with them and their uncaring, uninhibited boldness, these actions are no longer t so near the surface.
I see you so clearly: an imperfect yet perfectly human man: a man who has humility and yet is confident in what he knows and loves. A man who is a giant in size and stature and yet causes no fear when he moves amongst us mere mortals of average size and shape. Those hands, large hands that held the new life of his son by the woman whom he loved even as she broke his heart; hands that softly stroked the frail, delicate pale skin of his grandmother’s cheek before she left this world; hands that create a spark as they touch you as surely as if there were electricity passing through them; hands that you ache for, long to hold you tightly since they haven’t for the longest time yet maybe, just maybe will again.
My energy on this is tireless, I am not going to give up: one day you will realise I am the one for you. I know I am but I won’t rush the slow flow of our friendship as we swish and swirl around the challenges of our lives, the boulders in our path that we encounter and negotiate, moving on. Slowly we are building foundations, carefully laid courses of shared words and honest truths that gradually build towards our future.
I nearly did rush this. I so nearly did when I thought maybe, just maybe you finding me attractive meant more than the urges of hormones. But now, I know you won’t kiss anyone you make love to, whom you don’t love and you said you wouldn’t kiss me. Well now I know not to be foolish and I know I will not be becoming yet another notch on your belt. I do not have the energy to be used and flung aside, not that I think that I would be but with such tiredness weighing me down, heavy on my shoulders and making my feet drag, No, I’ll never be another notch: we have too much history for that.
When I first see you on this visit, I am utterly unprepared for the flood of emotion that overwhelms me in an instant. I want to run to you, to embrace you and kiss your soft, sweet lips but instead my passion will be (quelled?) sated with a hug; a squeeze I want to last as long as I possibly can without it being awkward and, when its over, I will wish I was still in your arms.
Silhouetted in the doorway, the light illuminating your tall, strong frame, I drink in your beauty as I enter the room. Balding, you maybe but I don’t care; your face manly and strong-jawed; kind eyes that sparkle with the fun of life and broad shoulders that in an earlier life bore me in a village carnival when my father, with his injured back, couldn’t be Long John Silver. Is that’s what we are still trying to put away in a drawer, maybe, the fact that you have known me since I was a child? You have seen me grow up: first when I was an ugly duckling; then as an uncool, unattractive, spotty, stupid-haired teenager. But what of me now? Now you have seen me in pretty lacey lingerie; see how my breasts, so youthful, and pert can be displayed on balconies of wire and fabric and far less. So, how much do I have to do to, I wonder, to show you, to remind you I am a full-grown woman? Just what do I need to do?
I’ll not take you when you aren’t ready to be taken although. You probably always are though, that’s how attractive you are. I don’t think you need to make a play for women, I’m sure they just take you. And maybe, right now, that is what you secretly want. You seem to like strong, assertive women. However, this is the long game, I want you to want me. I want you to need me. I want you to take me when you are ready for me and that time isn’t now. I want to be taken by you. I want to be yours because you choose it to be so.
But now, is for healing. Four, maybe five years later than it should be. Now is for you to talk it out with a therapist, while I build my business and write my future into being. We must be more equal than it is now. You have to put to bed the ghosts of your past. Stopped them haunting your present life, in the here and now. I must have planted the seeds for my future.
The ties that exist between our families through family mean you will always know of me, even if you don’t see me. I hope the occasional text message will remind you of me too. I’m not going to play games: if I can’t have you as my life partner and lover then perhaps I’ll have to settle on second best: couldn’t being best friends be good? We could, I feel it!
We totally could be best friends: I know you will learn to trust me once you have learned that I will never lie to you and I will never deceive you. Maybe then, the brother and sister love we share might just evolve. Maybe then you will see me with new eyes. Until then I will quietly, persistently, unerringly love you.
You don’t need to know I love you. I just will.