I know the idea of me writing this letter might sound petty and pathetic, somehow it seems like I am giving up so early at such an age. But I’m not sorry. I’d like to believe that to feel stuff like this is what makes me discover myself more and more each day. And that I’ve loved a little too much, I decided to stop now til the day I’ll finally see you.
To the last person I will ever love,
I will cherish you how the clouds worship the Sun; I’ll be your shadow and protect you from what I see, competition. I want to keep your shine all for myself to see, to own, to embrace; call me selfish. I have had enough of sharing. See me a self-absorbed bastard I don’t care. I want you and all of you only to me and no one is allowed to even have a sniff of even your first skin layer. I’m not sorry I sound possessive.
I will wake you up with a peck on your cheek and a pinch on your nose, to giggles that joys me. I’ll ask if you want to get up or spend all our time on bed contemplating because hell I’d love the idea of laying down beside you even to only listen to your breathes; they sooth me deep. I know perfection is a total illusion and you might not be the most perfect guy in the world but fuck that. I swear. To finally have you to love to dear, it already is the most perfect, beautiful feeling in this world and I swear to god I wouldn’t know what more is there to ask for.
I have loved and loved and pour all my affection at the wrong places all these time and I don’t want to leave my heart at the door ever again. I’m tired of letting myself down and give the privileges of breaking the walls I built me to whom I thought would shower me with a comet rain of attention. This time I told myself my defensiveness is going to work both ways. I shall not bomb down the solid red bricks anymore. I’ll keep all the love the world could never contain concealed deep down the abyss of my tiny helpless romantic spot in the smallest chamber deep in the furthest corner of my little organ called heart. I know if you re-read the previous sentence it might make you analyze it as a ‘Spatial Order’ writing pattern..
I have come to realize that things will only work out if this street is run two-ways. I hate how the world stereotyped guys as the ones who should show and do all the efforts in grabbing the girl. If he did it in a way the girl dislikes; he’s either a jerk or a loser. But if he finally did win the girl but he couldn’t keep it up; he’s a dumper. It is not his fault he got tired of trying to keep it up. I want to be both girl and guy in our relationship. I want to take you out and treat you dinner, or buy you presents and remind of your left-open beamer. I will spam you with hundreds of messages on Whatsapp, I’ll wake you from your sleep at 3AM to tell you to go to sleep, I’ll annoy you with selfies of me with my cat, I’ll want you to call me beautiful. I’ll also surprise you with flowers, or buy you McDonalds set when you’re in your lower. I will love you so much you won’t need to think about losing me ever at all. I’ll be so busy obsessing over you that all my time will be spent either re-reading our conversations or staring at your pictures in the dimmer.
I’ve had a little more than enough heartbreaks. I got broken, I ended up breaking. I vowed to myself not to fall in love. I hated love. But my decision to take you is the biggest turning point. This time if I’ll ever be broken, it’s a choice. I don’t think I’ll be mad at you, instead I’d be happy. I’ll be grateful. I thank God for lending me you even just for a while, just to prove that I’m not incapable of love as I thought I am. It’ll be beautiful, you know, the epiphany I’ll get. The traces of you will take me around, convince me that love is a wonderful thing. And by that time, I’ll be ready to love again.
One day if you’re reading this, know that you’re my fiction. So one day if you die, memories of you even before we met will live forever. But if fate was written that my death outleads yours, read all the things I wrote and make me a fiction in my fiction.
To the last person I will ever love,