I Know

            I know her. I can tell you the difference of her emotion just by the glint in her eye, no matter the size or tilt of the ever-present grin on her face. I know the obtuse angle of her smooth jaw almost down to the degree. I could draw the curve of her nose and the arch of her brow effortlessly in my sleep. I know the texture of her raven brown hair. I’ve brushed loose strands of it away from her face. I can find her in any crowd just by her smell. Like a greyhound, I gravitate towards her. She smells of vanilla. Like the sweetest truffle. Like coming home. I know the exact feel of her skin. I’ve traced the lines on her palm so many times that I could sketch them from memory. I can distinguish the deep, deep, brown of her iris from the black of her pupil. I know the arch and length of her lashes down to the degree of their curve. I bet you describe her eyes as dark. She hates that though. She’s not dark. She’s bright. And beautiful. And strong.

            I’ve seen her lying in a hospital bed, connected to far too many life lines with her hair matted on top of her head and her lashes curling back under swollen lids. Still bright. Still beautiful. And even stronger. 

            I’ve felt her warm breath on my chest. I’ve had my ears tickled by her childish whisper. I’ve stayed awake a thousand nights, watching her the rise and fall of her sleeping chest. With much anticipation, it rises to fill her lungs with air, gliding back down slowly afterwards. I know her features well enough that I can tell whether she’s walking through a soft, silky, dream or sprinting through an unforgiving nightmare. I’ve seen tears trickle across her still cheeks and I have seen the faintest of smiles dance across her slumbering lips. Watching her, I fall asleep and my dreams are always of one thing: Her.

            When I wake, she is still by my side, often curled against the shape of my body. I can’t help but notice how happy she looks, how warm she feels. I revel in those moments before she wakes up and pulls away from me, not wanting to damage our friendship by what her sleeping self has admitted. Since we were four years old, I could read her thoughts and she mine. We have a twin connection. I know everything she won’t say out loud.

That she trusts me.

That she loves me.

 

            You are only temporary. Remember that. But don’t hurt her because of it. Please don’t hurt her. You are lucky to have any time with her at all. I’ve been waiting my entire life for the sort of time you get to spend with her, and I’ll wait longer. I wouldn’t trade the moments I’ve gotten in the meantime for anything in the world.

            I have gone about my day with her next to me during every second of it. I know that she eats everything in pieces and categories. I’ve come home to see her baking�"batter splashed on her cheek and a sloppy line of flour smudged across her forehead. I’ve wondered daily as to how she could ever look more beautiful only to turn away and back again, finding that it’s already happened. I’ve grown jealous watching her cradle an infant in her arms or playfully locking eyes with a bored toddler across the room, making them feel�"at least for that moment�"ultimately important. I have a collection of moments with her.  Seconds of her tinkling laughter and frozen blushes that I pocketed when I thought no one was watching. I categorize every second, minute, hour, day that I get to share with her. I don’t allow myself to forget anything. Ever. I know her.

            Even more-so I know what it’s like to have my heart sink to my toes when she walks away only to have it hefted back up when she turns back, waves, and flashes that beautiful smile of hers. I know how it feels to lose my breath when she walks into a room, suffocated by the overwhelming presence of the woman I love. I know what it’s like to want�"to need�"but still to be denied having it.

            I’d kill to be able to say that I’m used to looking at the stars in her eyes and knowing you put them there. But I can’t. It cuts me fresh every time I see them and it’s a wound that can only be healed by her assuring touch. I don’t know what it feels like to graze her skin and feel it buzzed with desire. I don’t know what she tastes like or how my hand would fit to the curve of her hips.

            But, you do.

            Neither of us know why she’s picked you, though. And you at least appear to be grateful to her for the choice she’s made. No one can love her as gently as I plan to, but for now I will respect what she wants. The only goal I’ve ever set for myself is to keep her happy. I love her. I want her. I need her. But if she is happy with you, than I will stand aside for now. You’ve made her eyes shine in a way that they haven’t in years. You make her smile wide and her beautiful laugh loud and long. For those things I am eternally grateful to you.

            Just please, please, don’t take her away.

 

            Fight for her like I do�"I want to see blood and scabs and scars. I want to hear shouts and cries in her defense.

            Hold her like I would�"It had better be tight and you had better be the last to go.

            Look at her the way I do�"But when she catches you staring, don’t look away.

           

            Always, always, always give her the best of everything, because she is the best thing that has ever happened in your life.

            Trust me, I know.

Reviews

[Hannah Paige]

This letter was absolutely heart-wrenching. Each phrase was filled with such a tender, bitter-sweet love, and the emotions were so clear and genuine. It's hard to review something so personal because everyone expresses their emotions differently, but I can tell you that I think it was creative to write this letter to the person you're jealous of, and not to the person you love. The indirect style made it feel even more real, because it's probably easier to say these things to someone else than it is to say them directly to her (whether you actually sent this letter or not). Each detail that you identified proves how deeply this love goes, and your recognition of her feelings for this other person is like the cherry on top. You have to love someone a very great deal in order to accept, or even acknowledge, their love for someone else. I'm sure parts of this letter were difficult to put down in words, but well done on making it through. Not all love letters are full of kisses and roses. You have presented a darker form, but radiating love and adoration all the same.

[Daniela May]

wow....