Letter 33
Wednesday, December 17th, 2003
Letter 33
Delivered at 2:01 pm, Wednesday, December 17th.
Dear Billy-mine,
How are you today, sweetheart?
I know you didn’t write back. Or maybe your letter got lost. Either way, I’m writing to you to let you know that I’m still around. If you want to tell me...anything; if you’re hurt, you can tell me. Even if you’re afraid to tell me that you’re hurt, you can tell me that, too.
I’m still looking for a Christmas gift for you. I can’t seem to find just the perfect thing. You will still have it won’t you? My Christmas gift I mean. All of it. All that I said I would give to you. You’ll still have that, right?
I heard on the television last night that we’re expecting snow. It’s been rather chilly out, hey? Have you got mittens? Perhaps I should get you some for Christmas. For when I’m not around to keep you warm.
I still think about those things. Being with you, warming you up, taking extra care of you. I still look forward to it. Should I look forward to it? I’m sure I will, whether you allow it or not; or if you say a word at all. I’m making plans for us for Christmas Eve at this very moment. Tell me that there will still be ‘us’ in time for that day. Please, love, don’t let me do this on my own.
Do you know what I think? I think you are beautiful. And I suppose you knew that already, but I’m going to tell you more of what I think. You’re beautiful on your mouth, even when I’m just out of reach of your voice; if I can only see you breathing in the cold air; if I catch your frown or see your smile and watch you laugh, you are beautiful. You are beautiful in your eyes; when you look across some empty room and catch my glance for an instant even if I can’t make out the color of your eyes from the distance; when I’m gazing into your eyes for hours even when you aren’t there and I'm grinning or crying with them, you are beautiful. You are beautiful in my heart, because I see you there quiet and alone, and I want to pick you up into my embrace and comfort you all night, touching your mouth and eyelashes with my fingertips and carefully laying down millions of small kisses all over your skin; where no one has kissed and only I have been told to kiss; where no one else knows you are soft and breath-stealing and beautiful, you are beautiful.
I want to show you that you are beautiful. Come to me and tell me I can. Come back to me because I miss you, love.
The air in my room is sad; it feels that way. I don’t think it’s my fault, because it felt sad as I stepped into it yesterday. Your letter is on my bed where I dropped it. Where I fell asleep and woke up and wanted to read it again. If only to see your words and not what they mean. So I can see a part of you in the ink and look past something that tells me to wrest my own heart from its greatest treasure. So I can fall asleep in something other than a sad room, with sad covers on the bed, and a few sad sighs.
I hope you sleep well, love. My sweetheart, lay your head on the softest pillow. Pull those blankets tight around you, and they will keep you safe. And if you should want to stay in that one moment for the rest of time, know that I will keep my promises sacred. On Christmas Eve I will come and lie beside you, whether you should rise from your bed or remain there in silence for the rest of time. Then I will have that long to hold you.
In Seven Days,
MS
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