A Letter For You

You, 

I am writing this letter for you. Because it’s You. That’s all. There is no agenda except that I wish I could say some things to you.

I am not good with words. You stay silent long enough, words start to fail you. I guess that is the best way to describe me. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing you would know what I mean.

I wish for you to see that behind every “I’m fine” is a “I need a hug”. I will never say it, or at the most, I will make a joke out of it. But it’s there, like a silent plea escaping through the cracks of a façade.

Every time I come home to my fortress of solitude, I heave a sigh of relief, away from everyone. “People”.
I love being by myself but that doesn’t stop me from wishing you were there to welcome me home, ask about my day and tell me it’s ok even if the world sucks.

I know I don’t say this. But unfair as it may be, I wish you knew.

I am writing this letter precisely for that reason. Because it’s you.

You, a stranger. You, who do not know me, but make me wish that you did. You, the intangible distant concept of a person who would figure me right out, really know me for what or who I am, and not for what I say or do. You, who would be able to tell when I want to be left alone or when I need to be tugged into a warm embrace ignoring my protests. You, who will know when to humor me or to steer clear of me when my claws come out. You, who will hear what I don’t say, not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t. I can’t bring myself to tell you just how much care I have for you, but I so wish you knew.

You, a stranger indeed. An implausible dream, maybe.

I can write this letter to You because I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are, I only know who I wish you were. I wish I was someone you would wish for too.

Yours,
Me