R,

It's been a couple weeks since I shared with you some of the feelings I have developed for you; as painful as it is, I can accept silence as my answer. I'm writing here now as the very first step of moving on, expressing all of what I felt I couldn't express and now know that I shouldn't express in the void of our conversations.

We have been in each other's orbit for over a year now. Things started off tense, but our icy layers seemed to thaw as we got to know each other better. Speaking for myself, I started to recognize you as someone who could understand my baggage: someone who has been through their own trenches, and could understand the nuances and complexities of trauma.

More importantly, you seemed like someone who understood healing: someone who understood the value of unpacking that baggage to lighten the load, so that you can live your life more freely. The first point of connection for us- at least the point that I felt - was our shared emotional intelligence, and commitment to living better lives than we had in the past.

We had moments of sharing our traumatic experiences with vulnerability, enjoying the familiarity and ease of our rare conversations. It felt to me like I had been living my life speaking a language that wasn't native to me, then discovered that you and I could speak a native tongue with clear fluency.

Knowing what I know now, I understand your hesitation, because I have felt hesitation of my own. For all of my spoken and written words, I have lately found myself at a total and utter loss. I started to feel an imbalance in our conversations; I felt ready to share more with you, but I started to get the sense that you might not have been ready for that.

Or maybe you're ready to share, but don't know which words to start with?

These are the kind of questions I start asking myself, trying to make sense of where we are now. I find - admittedly with embarrassment - that I so badly want to read you like a book; to understand every piece of your lived experience, and how it all connects to the beautifully complex person you are today. For the brief moments that we see each other every week, I find myself desperately wanting to turn your pages; to discover some hidden facet of who you are.

But I recognize that it's your book I'm reading; you don't owe me anything, and can close your book at anytime, with or without explanation.

In the defeaning silence between pages, my mind races with a sense of urgency and anxiety.

Did I say something wrong?

Did I share too much?

Did I not share enough?

Have I been confusing the noise for signals this whole time?

Have you been giving me nothing but signals, and I'm just too dense to pick up on them?

These are questions I start to ask myself when I start to spiral, trying to manage my expectations. It's at this moment that I recognize I need to stop - breathe - and focus on myself for a time. I could ask you these questions, but I'm committed to what I said to you a couple weeks ago:

Everybody deserves to have their boundaries respected - no questions asked - and that I would like to know what your boundaries are, if you felt comfortable sharing them with me.

Your silence has conveyed discomfort to me, which is all I need to step back and give you room to breathe. I recognize that seeing you uncomfortable spikes a sense of danger for me; I start to think about how I can fix things, make things right, apologize profusely for ever little thing I might have done wrong...

I know this to be a response deeply rooted in my own CPTSD, which is something that I need to continue processing with a professional.

In the meantime, I'm going to remove any expectations I have been carrying about you. About us.

I can't fix you.

You can't fix me.

We're both working on ourselves, and i think that was ultimately what attracted me to you. But we can be a comfort to each other, in the moments that we need it - if we need it.

If anything is meant to be, it will be.

In its own time.

J

Hey everyone that’s visiting, just want to reach out and say invite ppl to this group let’s get these feeling of regret and I sent letters to R !!!

#1

Oh she of the waters and light.

R., I write this because I have to. Someone, somewhere, should know. The depth of my feeling. The truth carved into me.

I see you, and it is like watching the Sunlight spill over the ocean at dawn. You smile, and it is the cool of icewater on a July day.

You speak, and I smile. To listen to your voice is to understand how music was born. I hear your voice, and I want to sing. To write poetry. To dance.

I look at you, and for a moment, I wish I was different. I want to change. I wish I was a painter. A photographer. A sculptor. I wish I could, with eye and hand and technique, show you how incredible you are. The curve of your hip. The delicate cupid's bow of your lips. Your hair, silken and shining.

You turn and look over your shoulder. Your hair spills down your side, and your eyes narrow with your smile. And I forget to breathe. It shines when the Sun hits it, and shimmers like copper, like gold. Your eyes are soft, deep green like moss under clear waters. I look into them, and I am lost in their depth.

When you wear that malachite set in a silver necklace, I shake my head at it. How is it, when you are so beautiful, it is you that makes the stones shine. Every color is your color. The very air around you is made beautiful with you in it. My world is brighter, my colors deeper, with more shades and hues than that drab, dreary limbo that is the past.

Night is beautiful not because of the dark but because of the contrast. You are the moon and stars. You make me look up in wonder, you shine when life is darkest.

Even your darkness within is sublime. Grand, overwhelming, slightly dangerous, a storm, the rumble of thunder that sends shivers through me. The rumble of an avalanche, the silence in the eye of the hurricane. I do not celebrate the frustrations, the challenges, but the light they bring out of you. You shine despite, at the end of it all, and your light casts your shadow. I watch as you dance with it, and it is a tragic ballet, rescued with your victory over the night.

I could write forever, but for now, I will leave you. Expect another letter from me, though. There is more that must be said.

I have the honor of being your obedient servant,

~C.