(poem collaboration with the incredibly talented Matthew Delgado, matheyhue.wordpress.com)
This is an open letter to anyone who has the audacity to try to love her half as much as I did. I would like to apologize in advance for all the resentment and umbrage this note might give you because you need to completely understand that you are in love with a girl whose pink bubblegum lips were previously reserved for mine, a girl with soft hands and a sweet voice who’s‘ i love you‘‘s were solely set aside for me. And if you see that any of my anger seeps into the cracks of my cracked lips and my boiled blood on the sleeves of your vest, forgive me.
Forgive me because I am still in love with her. It’s as simple as that. I am in love with the way her hair cascades down to her halo and gracefully brushes her shoulder blades- those shoulder blades; don’t you think that they resemble an angel’s growing wings? Because that is what she is- an angel in the making. I am in love with the way her eyes capture the twilight rays of the sun and the way they shine like daybreak. I am in love with the way her voice tickles my earlobes; every word she says is a musical note, every sentence, a melody and every i love you is a requiem for me. I am in love with the way her skin pulsates under mine, our warmth radiating from us- we are the summer sun, were the summer sun, but I am still in love with her. She is still my present tense. And I was hoping, my future. But before I commend your bravery and courage into going this far with her, let me point out to you that I have never been one to walk away, so believe me, there are no signs of holes in my shoes or tracks of my footprints on the ground. Remember that I will love her longer than you ever will.
This was not supposed to be a letter of threat. But lately, that’s all that’s rolling out of my tongue. It’s not that I hate you, I just don’t want to be friends. My heart is in a battle with my head, my knuckles bruising my gut. You see, I lived with a hole buried down my chest ever since she told me about you. And I just want you to know that every time you kiss her, my lips were there first; every time you try to wrap your arms around her, it was my body that fit hers like a puzzle before yours; and every time you hold her hand, mine filled those spaces long before yours came into the picture. But now, it’s your name that she whispers at dawn and your shoulder that she cries on, so I hope that you know what you are getting yourself into. She’s not like other girls, trust me. When she’s angry at you and yells ‘I hate you’, what she really means is that she loves you so much it hurts her-and don’t walk away, hug her and whisper in her ear ‘I love you too’ because it will stop her from crying. She’s allergic to flowers, remember that, and she hates chocolates so give her handwritten letters on Valentine’s Day – or every day for that matter. Don’t put on too much cologne and remember to send her good morning texts. When you go on dates, don’t ask her what she wants to do – plan everything ahead of time. She likes surprises. Read the books that she tells you to read and watch the movies she tells you to watch. Never fall asleep when you’re texting her and midnight calls are expected every Saturday.
Tell her how you really feel; don’t try to be the man society expects you to be, be the man she needs. Tell her ‘I love you’ when she needs it the most or when she expects it the least. And most of all, make her happy. You might even succeed at it, more than I hoped I would. If you ever find yourself kissing her to sleep, keep on going until her eyelids fall and her breathing becomes silent and steady.
This is an open letter to anyone who has the audacity to love her half as much as I did. I don’t know your name, but please, please be good to her.