by Stephen Ross
A love letter.
Golden hair: long, bright, shining. As a frozen waterfall just before the warming of spring. A presence held like an aura in the air. You completely captivate the room in soft-spoken reserve. Front of the room, studious, content.
I watch as shoes, bright as snow shake anxiously beneath your seat. Moving back and forth, twitching in an almost uncomfortable caffeine anxiety. An iced coffee rests to the left of your computer and you choose to sip. Lips fine and fair pucker at the straw, a cup held so gently in hands of fair skin.
To many a light, fair-skinned, quiet soul. Kind and full of life, full of energy. A presence that fills the air. Today, you are gorgeous. Today your smile blesses the souls of those around you. I do not understand the world you live in. I do not even imagine that I understand the world you live in. Another culture. Another mind.
Nose piercing, ear piercings, rings, a striped dark red sweater. Tightly fit jeans rolled up at the ankles. Beautiful. An abrasion of skin half an inch from the butt of shoes white as snow. Red, ugly, irritated. Skin juxtaposed to the rest of body. A testament to worn feet, and a traveled soul.
I yearn to hear your soft spoken voice. To understand the mind behind the aura. To carry oneself the way you do. Smile the way you do, to crinkle and sparkle your eyes in a hypnotic bliss.
I love you. But this isn’t a love letter. This is not a follow-up to a future. Instead I write to an homage. I write as a moment. I tell you to smile and never stop. I write for this and for you because you are the most beautiful girl in the world right now. To me, I wish you the world. To me, I wish you love, life, and happiness. Most of all, I wish you an understanding of the sun you carry on your back.
But that’s just me. Pops, cracks, sizzles in an ever-flowing brain. A depression of grey clouds that float over, get comfortable, and stay a blackness in my heart that instead of reflecting emotion and keeping a heart open to the world, sucks in all thought and doesn’t let it escape. Pulls in on itself and sucks every thought and feeling and feeling of empathy into a dark abyss. Only building each one on top of the last and not allowing anything to escape.
Yet, you walk in late, make a truthful statement that is felt witty and sarcastic. A voice so soft spoken having a rebuttal is felt in a wave of giggles. A shining light in a dark, tired room.
So I’ll smile when I see you. I’ll be happy when I see you because you’re magical. Of course you won’t think of it as more than a passing greeting. But that’s okay because we’re human. And some things can only be captured on paper on a cold Monday morning. Some things need no more than a letter to a wonderful heart, and a wonderful soul.