Tag Archives: love letters

Dear R.P.H. (Letter #15)

I transcribed a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.
This is the final letter I wrote to him. If I meet him again, I’ll let you know. Promise.

Dear R-

I think I’m closing this chapter of epistolic rants. Basta. Enough. For lack of anything better, I’m going to quote Leonard Cohen. “That’s all. I don’t even think of you that often.”

 

– All My Love

J

(8/20/15)

Advertisements

Dear R.P.H. (Letter #14)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.

Dear R-

Last time I’ll write you. I miss you now because I don’t feel anything for you anymore. Even when I think of you. Even when I remember the sweetest things you said to me.

And I miss feeling. It comes around so infrequently. Even the misery. I don’t think I’ll ever feel that much again. And I did not feel so much the first time, or in the first place.

I miss that you made me care. I don’t really miss you anymore. But, maybe I’m just saying that now, because I haven’t seen you again or been reminded, or had a little anything for someone else. Now there’s nothing. I look down at that little hole where you sat in my heart. It’s not sad or happy now. It’s just empty. I’m sad about that. But there’s nothing wrong with being sad. There never has been.

Dear R.P.H. (Letter #13)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.

Dear R-

I’m sorry I misled you. I did it because I thought you’d shut me out. But you’ve done that anyway. I could leave, and you’d never contact me again. It’d all be gone, in just that one second choice.

I reached too far. I actually liked something. And let you know I liked something. So it had to be taken away. Because I’m all wrong and don’t deserve it. God what a pity I am. Such a pity.

Dear R.P.H. (Letter #12)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.

Dear R-

Do you know when I miss you? I miss you when I can’t sleep, and it’s three in the morning and my brain automatically calculates what time it is where you are. And I think that I can’t waste my time waiting for you like I used to do. Hoping you’d see me and talk to me.

I miss you when I’m drawing, and have no one to show it to.

I miss you when I think of you, which is becoming less and less.

I should never have given you me. Lord knows what you’ll do with what you know, who’ll you share a piece of me with. I lost control of that. That’s why I’m upset.

Dear R.P.H. (Letter #11)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.

Dear R-

Did you want someone who thought you were the sun, the moon, and all the stars? I would’ve been that for you. I would’ve loved you more. You would have had a person. I would’ve been able to give all this to someone. I would’ve given a damn when you needed me to give a damn. I would’ve been there for the stupid stuff – the stuff you didn’t think should’ve been that important. I let you in dammit. Now I’m back down to two. Two people to care about. And you’ve got me doubting whether I was made to love. Great. Thanks babe.

Dear R.P.H. (Letter #10)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.

Dear R-

She didn’t mean to hurt my feelings. I’m sure she didn’t. But I don’t have anyone else to talk to. God, I’m so deficient. And weird. And effed up. God, so screwed up. You shouldn’t have touched me with a ten foot poll after seeing my family. I’m so broken. Dammit, why weren’t you the one to be the one to understand me.

Dear R.P.H. (Letter #9)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.

Dear R –

I need to, I have to turn off my input sensors every once in a while. Does that make sense? I can’t take anymore. One day you’ll be interested in what makes me tick. But I just need to curl up in a ball, hold my knees and say, “don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me.” I need to know you’ve got me. Like the ice skater who once came up behind me quickly to grab my waist and pull me along so we didn’t crash. “I have you.”

God I’m such a fool. What’s true about this? The person who lowers their barriers with reluctance, one more time, always regrets it. I should’ve never let you in.

I’ll do what I tell myself to do, one of these days. I’ll be all the things I think I should be. I’ll be lovely and perfect and I’ll stop relating to Dorothea.