Letter and Reply 22
Thursday, November 13th and Friday, November 14th, 2003
Letter and Reply 22
Delivered at 2:25 pm, Thursday, November 13th.
Dear Billy,
So this is what it means to be wrapped up in someone else. I can’t explain to you how much I cherished your last letter. After waiting so long, worrying over you, it was like a sudden break of sunshine. I’m so glad you’re feeling better now. All that you said about my doctoring you … well, thank you, Billy. Really, your words mean so much. I can see you tied into every one, and I picture you, sweet and soft within the page. Someday I hope to look up from the page and see the same thing.
Dom is a rather handy thing, I suppose. He hasn’t shown any signs of illness so far, so I think he’s kept away from most of whatever bug had gotten you. I’m so glad that he was there to take care of you. And I’m glad that you think so highly of his nursing. Knowing Dom, I’m sure he felt more in-the-way than anything. Then again, he often lacks on self assurance when it comes to caring things like that.
Thomas! I love that name. If I remember his look correctly, I’d say that is a perfect name for him. Even if you don’t think that the name is very creative, that may not be what he needs. He’s just a regular sort of bloke, like me, which may be the reason you consider him a part of who I am. I picked him out especially for you, so if he fits you well, then maybe I will also, hey?
I don’t really enjoy actual sick days myself. When you’re really sick, I mean. You’re right. Those sorts of days should really be saved for road trips. To the beach. With someone absolutely lovely.
Speaking of which, you were so lovely in my dream. I’m so relieved that I wrote it all down. All of the tiniest details are saved. I need to remember that dream until it comes true; until I can hold you like that and see your eyes just that color up close. Billy, I imagine you are so warm when you are kissing.
I can’t wait until Christmas Eve. If you are on my doorstep that night, I won’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know if I would be surprised, or if I would just carry on nervous laughter all night long. I could almost expect it of you, you know, to go out and take on the whole town to find a needle in the hay. And I know if you eventually found me you’d say something short and cheeky like, “Where have you been, I’ve been all over town!” And then I might just have to kiss you then.
I don’t know how you can offer yourself to me, Billy. I can’t understand why anyone would want to give me gifts, candles, and warm beds if they didn’t even realise who I was. I wonder if you’d still offer it all if you could know me. Not to say that it doesn’t excite every part of me to read about every offering, but I lack so much confidencece. How can I know that you wouldn’t turn me away? I’m so thankful for all you say, Billy. But I can’t get my hopes up too high; not yet. I hope you can understand. I really do care for you. If there is still a place open in that bed beside you on Christmas after you’ve found me, I will gladly take it up. Just to see your face Christmas morning, I would sleep outside in the cold. If you stepped out of your door then, I would run to you and wrap myself around you to keep you warm. I would treasure you for the rest of time.
Billy, I would write you five hundred poems. Don’t ever doubt that. Don’t doubt that I would do anything for you. And don’t think that a poem is all that I want to try to do. I’m thankful that you liked it so much, though I really think that other methods could have broken your sickness quicker, if I could have only been there.
I shatter at night when I can’t feel you beside me. My arms want to die because they have no purpose but to hold you. I flood myself with fears over losing something that I haven’t yet gained, and I do it every day because I need you so badly, and somehow it makes everything better. Because if I’m wanting you, then I must have something to want, and that reminds me that you are beautiful, and you are worth every moment of this pain and waiting. You’re a day that’s just lingering in the future, only a little ways away.
Thank you for giving yourself to be held.
Reaching Back,
MS
Delivered at 5:47 pm, Friday, November 14th
Dear MS,
My, it's a relief to read your letters with a clear head. I'm just able to appreciate them so much more.
I think I may end up dragging Dom to see a film this weekend. It's time to get out again. We both spend entirely too much of our free time cooped up in the house. I'll treat him. It can be his reward for taking such good care of me while I was ill. That is, as long as he shows no signs of being sick himself. Because, if he does, it will have to be rental films and hot chocolate for him at home! Poor man.
Thomas has a place of honour now. He sits on top of my pillows all day long and at night sits on my bedside table where I can see him. He’s good company really, though not the most talkative of fellows. Nice to have around, but really, no substitute for his giver...
Do you keep a journal of some sort where you write down your thoughts, dreams, poetry? It sounds like you do, and if you don’t, you should. In fact, if you don’t, tell me write now so I’ll know what to get you for Christmas. Among other things. I can’t imagine being structured enough to write all that down, but I’d say you should go for it. And it’s not just love struck Billy saying that. It’s Billy the master critic.
On second thought, maybe it’s better if you don’t keep a journal. Because if I ever got a hold of it, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from reading it, and then all of your secrets would be mine.
I’m not so sure your description of me on Christmas Eve is quite accurate. Because if I found you, I’m not sure I’d be capable of saying anything, let alone something remotely intelligent. I’d be speechless. And I can only hope that the look on my face would convey the myriad of emotions I would want to share. Other than that, I’d just have to hold you, and hope that that would help express my feelings.
I don’t want you to be insecure. I don’t want you to have to worry about anything along the lines of rejection. Because honestly, I couldn’t. If you’re even half the man when I meet you as you are in the words on this page, you’ll be more than I have ever hoped for.
Really, sometimes, I can’t help worrying that perhaps I won’t live up to your expectations. I don’t know you. How can I be sure that you know me? Perhaps you see something in me from a distance that won’t be quite so clear up close.
I won’t fret about it, though. For now I’ll take this letter and add it to the others, sliding it under my bed where I know it will be within reach should I wake up longing.
Devotedly,
Billy
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