To You, wrote to me. I haven’t heard from you in so long. I thought you forgot about me. I never forgot about you. But what does that mean? Does it mean I’m desperate and lonely for any sense of connection that makes me feel loved and cherished. I miss you. And I don’t know if that’s because I miss you or the something I thought we had. I never stop thinking about you. When life comes to a halt you are the only one that ever mattered. I write sappy love ballads now. Was it the battering of the bludgeoned bat against my soul. I fear now. Love. I fear what it means. This vulnerability, I never trusted it. You were something though. In your letter you sounded like you. The old you I fell in love with. Yes love. I was in love with you. I realize that now. I also realize it was the only true feeling of love I’ve ever experienced. Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to. I hurt. I didn’t know what to do. So I did the only thing I knew. I put up a wall, made of brick and steel. I couldn’t feel anything, nothing could get through to cause me pain. Then he came along. The man who broke down the wall. He convinced me to push out a brick and once I did he let the entire thing fall. Then I felt. I felt pain, intense pain and I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t know what to do. Slowly over time I’ve began to replace those bricks, but I can’t forget the feeling. I wish I could talk to you. I’ll probably never send this to you. Your eyes will never read these words, but I can pretend that this piece of paper is you and it makes me feel better. This is everything I would say to you if I could get past my wall, but I feel safe behind that wall. It’s a good place. Behind the wall everything is stable. The ground is level and I’m happy, content in my carefully controlled bubble. I feel emotions, but they are constrained to the current moments of joy and sorrow. I can watch them pass and let them go. I never learned how to do that with you. Maybe that’s why I want to talk to you, want to see you. But no, I miss you. I miss our conversations, your words, the way you made me feel. There was no one else in the world when there was you. You were the one. But I’m afraid to say that. Because maybe it isn’t true. It’s been so long and I question if that was all some crazy fantasy. I wrote a song for you. I wanted to record it and hoped that it would play on the radio somewhere near you and you would hear it. Then you would know how I felt. That I was still there, waiting for you. Waiting to hear from you. Waiting to try again. But wait, I don’t know where you are, who you are, who you’re with. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong and our love was only a myth. I’m confused. Always have been. I think you will attest to that. Is it because of all the fucked up shit that happened in the past or is it just me. Am I just fucked. I have beautiful dreams, but sometimes I feel like I’m running. I feel like I move so fast that nothing matters because it’s all in the past and I don’t have time in the present to think about anything but that. But the past likes to creep up on you when you are still. When life slows down. It seeps out from the corners of your mind until at the perfect time it springs its attack.