tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46201998355202684742024-03-13T13:08:25.068-07:00The Box Under the StairsThe Letters I Never SentDianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03499852507855223998noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4620199835520268474.post-65416052561259078392012-05-21T11:30:00.002-07:002012-05-21T11:30:28.972-07:00To the Boy Who Knows My Name<div style="text-align: center;">
Dear R.A.L</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know you, from before; I always though you must've known I existed, but I wasn't sure you knew my name. Now, I know you know it, because you called me it the other day, before you rode off on your dirt bike. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Today, when you walked in, I could hear in your voice that you were happy to see me. It surprised me and made me feel warm; because I'm always happy to see you.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I think you have a tender heart hidden under that charm and I want to find it; I want to be given charge of it. Could you trust me with such a task?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Would you let me prove myself worthy of it?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You've been with me for a few weeks now, you know. Ever since you said my name. When you did that, you brought yourself to my attention - you gave me hope. I hope you didn't do that falsely; because after living with you in my head, I'm dying to live with you in real life. I want to ride around in your truck, hold your hand, rub your back when you're tired. I want to wake up tangled in sheets, our dogs and your arms. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know there are prettier girls in town, but I also know that I could take care of you and love you like you've never been before. I know that's what you're looking for and I'm willing - all I ask is tht you are just as careful with my heart.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Always, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
D.M.E </div>Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03499852507855223998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4620199835520268474.post-91101696228835446992012-05-14T10:16:00.004-07:002012-05-14T10:16:45.263-07:00A Love Letter to the Boy Who Comes in the Store<div style="text-align: center;">
Dear S.C.<br />
Yesterday, you came in wearing a sweater and my favorite smile. <br />
You
ordered your 'usual' - I knew what it was, but you make me nervous, so I
asked to make sure I was right. Next time, I'll trust I'm right; I hope
you'll be impressed.<br />
I was brave and asked you what your plans were for the day; you said
you were going to your place to relax and enjoy the rainy day. Silently, I wished
you to ask me to go with you<br />
I wonder what your place looks like. Is
it messy or tidy? Are there books? Games? How big is your bed? Are there
dirty dishes in your sink? Pictures on the walls? I imagine it a
typical bachelor's pad (even though you are anything but typical) with
sparse furniture, clothes hanging in odd places. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Not messy; just a tad
disheveled. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Cozy, a bit rustic, some of the furniture being stuff you
made yourself. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I hope you have books stacked next to the bed. I hope there isn't a
TV or a video game in the place. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I hope you could hear the rain
pittering on the roof last night. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I hope you have a nice dog, one my
Huck would like.<br />
I hope you have more than one pillow, but if you don't, that's okay, I
can share. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I want to be that close to you anyway. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I hope you'll play
with my hair, rub my back and ask me how I got the three tiny scars on
my stomach. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I hope you'll hold my hand; I hope you reach for it first. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I
hope you'll read aloud to me, that you'll fall asleep on my stomach, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that you'll watch me when you think I'm not looking. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Next time you go to
your place up north, I hope you'll ask me to come. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
While you laid
in bed last night listening to the rain, I hope you thought of me.<br />
I was certainly thinking about you.<br />
Always,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
D.M.E </div>Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03499852507855223998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4620199835520268474.post-73665751470510287382012-05-14T10:16:00.002-07:002012-05-14T10:16:02.240-07:00A Message in a Bottle (written on torn diary pages)<div style="text-align: center;">
Dearest,<br />
I worry that maybe
you aren't there, like I always imagined. Is it possible that I could be
wrong after a lifetime of waiting? I saw you once, as I floated down
from a window, in a dream I had when I was so very young. You were just a
little boy, but I knew you - to this day I still know your face. I told
my mother it was you whom I'd find and marry, but she'd giggled at my
little girl fancies and said that it was unlikely. "A girl just doesn't
dream up her true love at age six," she said. But I ignored her and have
since imagined you aging with me, becoming more and more who I need you
to be as the years have dragged on. And the more the years creep on,
the more I despair - maybe I did make you up in my head. Maybe I have
been waiting for someone who doesn't exist beyond my dreams. But some
days, I see you so clearly that I'm sure you've found me, until that
person continues walking and I realize it couldn't be you; you'd never
walk right by me. You've seen me in your dreams too and you've been
hunting for me as I've been waiting for you and I know that when you see
me, you will stop. You will stare, and you will know. "There you are,"
you'll say, "I've been looking all over for you." As if I had just
wandered off in a bookstore and you'd found me tucked in some corner,
nose-deep in musty pages, and were ready to walk me home.<br />
Yes,
that's how it will be. When it's you, you'll know me, and all my waiting
will not have been in vain. Then one night, when we're curled together
in bed watching the rain fall against the window, you'll tell me about
this dream you had when you were six, about a little girl who fell out a
window, her skirt popped out like Alice's as she went down the Rabbit
hole, and how when you had asked her to stay, she said she couldn't, but
she promised to return to you.<br />
"Yes," I'll say, "Don't I always keep my promises?"<br />
And you'll smile, because you know I always, always will. I promise.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
D.</div>Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03499852507855223998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4620199835520268474.post-58505746878911045362012-05-14T10:14:00.001-07:002012-05-14T10:14:40.234-07:00A Letter to Whom I have Yet to Meet<div style="text-align: center;">
Dearest,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I
have lost count of the number of times I have written you this letter
in my head - but it would have to be close to a thousand by now. I think
the reason I put it off was because I am afraid of the power of words
on paper - especially if they are my words.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I
didn't sleep well last night and awoke with a dreadful headache. My
first thought was how I wished you were lying next to me, because I know
you would've found a way to make it better. I got up and tried to go
about my day as best as I could. I refused myself the coffee I
desperetly wanted in favor of healing the headache, ate breakfast by
myself, wandered around the house aimlessly allowing my restlessness to
overpower me and spent all of it someplace in my head with you.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I
miss the way you would giggle at me when I got like this - how you
would call it my writing 'process' and would shake your head at my
foolishness. I couldn't tell you how much it annoyed me - or how much I
wish you were sitting at our kitchen table doing it right now.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I
was riding my bike into town the other day and I thought I saw you. It
was only a flash, but for a moment I was sure it was you. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How my heart fell when I realized it was just another strange face.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Since then, I have ached for you, love, in such a heartbreakingly painful way.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You
never told me waiting would be easy, love, but if I'm honest, I never
imagined it to be this difficult either. People think I'm foolish to
wait as I do. I hear them whisper and call me naive for believing you'll
come for me someday. They say I should accept and settle - they have
gotten me halfway convinced to give a couple 'settlements' a chance... </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But don't worry, sweetheart, I know you are coming and I'll be here, waiting, as patiently as I can. I won't falter again, ever.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How
could I, when I see you when I drink my coffee in the morning? I see
you in strangers on street corners, and in the smiles of those who pity
me. I see you in the early morning sun's glare and the late night moon's
glow. And I never fail to see you in my dreams.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So how could I do anything, but love you with all that I am, all the rest of my days?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Come home to me, darling, as soon as you can. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'll be seeing you, love - if only in my dreams.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Love,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>TST</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03499852507855223998noreply@blogger.com0