Letters Unsent 07.07.2009 Dear you, Do you remember how we first met?

It was at a picnic wedding; you were wearing a flowery spring dress that fell just above your knees, your auburn hair tied up in a bun, strands falling to the sides, and you were beautiful that was all I knew about you then. You were beautiful. I wanted to talk to you but I didnt know how. All I knew was that, in that moment, I wanted to plant my feet in your world, one way or another I wanted to know you. You were sitting alone on a grass verge by the side of a lake after the ceremonies, an insect on your arm it was a ladybug, if Im not mistaken, a ladybug for luck - and I asked Courage to be my friend. I sat beside you, let out a shaky Hello. You looked at me with wide, hazel eyes, long, curved lashes and I introduced myself, Hello, Im Ace, even though all I wanted to say in that moment, even though the words threatening to fall out of my mouth was I could drown in your eyes. I could fall and drown and sink down, down, down into the deep abyss of your eyes but I dont think Id ever want to come up to the surface, I dont think Id ever want to reach the shore. Hello, you replied, giggling, the corners of your lips tugging upwards into the prettiest smile Ive ever seen on anyone. I wonder if you still smile like that without me. Coherency was a bit of a tall order, but I stumbled along, and we talked. Or, you talked, and I listened. You told me that you hardly knew anyone present, that you only attended the wedding because you were a close friend of the bride, and that the both of you were roommates in college. You told me that she had personally implored you to come and so you did. I asked you off-handedly if you believed in love and in marriage and till death do us parts. Your eyes narrowed into half-moons and you laughed. You laughed and you laughed and you laughed. What a question. You said after, but I knew there was no malice in your words because you looked straight ahead, and it could have only been me, but you looked wistful, you looked lonely. I knew you wanted to say no, but kept it to an I dont know. What do you think about love? You asked.

My answer was simple. I told you that love was another dimension all together that it was the last destination, the last definition. You laughed again and told me straight off that I was dreaming, that there must be something wrong, why would love be anywhere at all. You were so sure that you were immune to it love happened to people but it didnt happen to you; you didnt belong to it. Im going to change your mind. I said suddenly, surely, as I turned my head to catch your gaze. You looked at me in surprise, but then another smile graced your features, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, laughter in your eyes. You can try. I still want to. Yours Truly, Ace

20.07.2009 Dear you, The first time we kissed outside your doorstep, there was a full moon and I went home imagining galaxies spreading across your face in pale lines and stars exploding in your eyes. Your whole being was, and is, like magic to me in every shape and form, and being with you made me wish silently on supernovas because you were like a distant star to me that I wanted so much to reach more than anything. The second time we kissed, we ended up in bed and melded together in a perfect, beautiful mess of twined limbs and sheets, both of us letting out gasps and breaths of each other's names. You were curled up beside me after in the nights unrest, your body warm, and there was a light shining through the window, lacing your bones like an angel complex. I twirled your hair idly with my fingers, whispering into your ear spoken lullabies and love songs and youre beautiful so so beautiful, and you laughed and tackled me, jabbing me between the ribs, and then you kissed me. This was the two of us then: laughing, smiling, kissing, holding each other like the sky could come crashing down on us any second, like the universe was held up by breakable threads. This was the moment I realized that I was happy and in love. I had you, you were mine. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else matters.

The third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth kisses were stolen ones, chaste ones, passionate ones, searing ones. The eleventh time we kissed, we were out at the park on a lazy Sunday afternoon and the sunlight seemed to stain your eyelashes and paint them golden. Everything about you was beautiful that day; you were wearing that same spring dress you wore the day we met, and your hair was on fire, highlighted by the red and orange hues in the sky behind you. I want to be free, you said suddenly, but I didnt understand because all I felt was contentment and happiness as I stayed in a euphoric state with you by my side. Your dark, hazel eyes looked so far away, and when I leaned in to press my lips against yours, I felt you pull back just a little bit, like I felt foreign to you. The thirteenth time we kissed, it was brief and you didnt kiss me back, and you looked fragile and breakable in that oversized shirt you wore, cupping a glass of water in your hands, and I wanted to collect you in my arms and hold you close and keep you warm but you wouldnt let me. You looked breakable, but it was I who was breaking. Whats wrong? I asked, and you said that you were tired, you said that you havent had much sleep and you just needed to be alone to rest for a little while, and you looked away, like you were afraid to look me in the eye. I said my goodnight and left. The fourteenth time we kissed, you said that whatever this was (it was love, it was love, it was love) was over and that you were sick of me and there was someone else and I forced myself onto you and claimed your lips and tried to make you see that it was okay and that you were wrong and I was ready to forgive you because I knew you loved me, I know you love me, but you pushed me away and said I was crazy (crazy about you) and that I was too much (all I have is too much love for you, my heart can't accommodate it) and that you didnt want to see me anymore. I know you didnt mean that. I know you didnt mean that. You havent kissed me since. I wonder if your lips still taste like strawberries and lip gloss and all things beautiful. I miss you, Ace

01.08.2009 Dear you, This is the last letter Im writing you. I wish for you to know that I have pain scrawled into my skin, words I want to spell out to you slowly, steadily (I-L-o-v-e-Y-o-u), in hopes that you might see just how much of you has seeped into my soul, into my heart. I write you messy love letters in red ink because the truth is I do not know how to speak in happy endings, the truth is Ive forgotten how to speak in forevers and eternities and love love love. Theres a funny thing about murder. Its the act of killing someone unlawfully, unpremeditated or with malice aforethought; its a law that theyve told you never to break, to make you see the world in black and white and keep you moral. But what they dont tell you is that you can kill someone, that you can destroy and ruin and tear them to pieces with no chance of them ever being put back together without the use of hands or guns or knives or force. That you can kill someone without them actually dying. This is what you did: you swallowed my heart whole and left me gasping for air. And you kill me. Oh, you kill me.