Dear You,

This is probably weird. I sincerely hope that you aren’t reading this right now – I would feel awkward–maybe even a little embarrassed to be about to say what I’m about to say, and still thinking about you like you meant more than 24 hours can tell. I would hope that if you ever did find yourself here that you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable or creeped out by it. But here I am, I’m listening to your mix-tape, I’m writing again. Thank-you–sincerely–for being the Muse that brought me here.

They always said not to judge a book by its cover, and then someone dared to ask how you would ever pick up any book if you didn’t judge it by the cover. I’ve made some assumptions. But the saying is much less about making your mind up about someone’s appearance, and much more about not letting your experience of that person be biased by that appearance. Everyone is worthy of recognition for their true selves.

I guess I’m here as a contemplative–as a ponderer. I ponder what happens behind your eyes and anxious-but-kind smile. But actually I’m pondering much less about you and much more about me–because you are You and well, contemplating you is your adventure, not mine.

I wonder if you were curious to know the stories you dismissed the covers of–or maybe you didn’t really dismiss them, but just let them overwhelm you with whatever-it-is that they whispered to you. I wonder if you’re more than uncomfortable of them. I wonder if I was too familiar, too comfortable with you, too…much, too fast. I wonder if this says anything about how I interact with people in general…or if it was just the mixture that was Us. I put a lot on the table, I can tell you, and I’d like to say that’s unusual but it’s kind of a pattern with me. Maybe I could learn from the stoics–that’s a philosophy that fits really well with the growth that I’ve experienced in the last year and a half. 

I told you that I wish you well. I do; I meant it–in case there was any doubt. I don’t have an ounce of ill-feeling in my mind about you; I think you’re great and I hope you go on to find yourself more deeply than you could have ever imagined. I’m not really part of your story, anyway – just a ship that passed–kind of literally in the night. You probably don’t (and won’t ever have the chance to) understand what that passing has meant to me, but that’s okay.

So it’s not much, but any more I think would feel too much, so for now I’ll just sit back, sip the ginger beer I made this week, and continue to take advantage of your fabulous music tastes.

-Thanks.

 

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