Letters From M

Dearest X,

I miss you entirely. There is something pulling at my heart every time I see a picture of you. Your face, your eyes; these are the only images I see, even when I look at someone else. My heart pulls me toward you but oh! my head, my mind, tells me to turn and run in the opposite direction. My eyes are filled with the overwhelming feelings that run through me. My blood pulses in my veins when I hear your name, and my heart quickens, but my mind runs in reverse.

Will I ever be able to put my heart and mind on the same track? I doubt this even as I wish it with all of my being. Perhaps this wish will be the only thing that I agree with my self on. This thought saddens me, but I feel that it is true. I wish you were the one to put them straight, but when you walk--toward me or away--my feelings and my thoughts scream at each other.

So here is what I will do. I will not write any longer. Oh, X, you know how I wish I could send you this letter, and the others I have written. But I cannot. These pages, this ink, will never see the inside of an envelope. They will remain in my hands. Locked in my desk, where they are safe, they will gather dust.

Maybe one day, when I am old and wise, I will open these letters and read them again. Maybe I will see whatever it is that I am missing now. Maybe I will see the truth to this entire situation. Will I be wrong in what I do? Or will I consider myself to be wise when I look back?

These are the mysteries only time can reveal. For now, though, I must lock away the letters and bury my pen.

Goodbye, X.

Love,

M