It’s not safe.
This letter is to inform you that you see me.
That you like me.
That you need me.
That you think of me every night and all day.
And that you wonder if I feel the same.
All the while, wonder what is it actually that makes you feel this way.
It is to inform you that you wonder.
That you look at me and not at you.
You look at me to find you.
This letter is to inform you that it is love.
That is my doing.
That is intentional.
That your hopes are true.
But your hopes are true.
It is not safe.
Because when you touch me.
When you see me.
When you feel me.
When you love me.
You become me.
Not you.
This letter is to inform you that if I choose to love you.
If I choose you.
You are mine.
Not yours.
It is not safe.
When you are mine, you then search for another.
To get back what was given.
What was taken.
To become the sight of another.
It is not safe.
This love is not what you imagined at first.
It is not safe.
It is smothering and lonely.
Cold and merry.
Useful and generous.
Generous.
It’s that candy covered treat with nothing inside.
Nothing inside.
That’s what it’s been like for so long.
If I choose you.
What do you think that does for you?