A Letter to the Man Who Should Not Read My Blog, But Does Anyways

I wondered if you even existed when I would see a couple on the street.

At the rate I was going, it didn’t seem like I would come to meet you.

You were an elusive figure.

Someone I was left to writing about. A stranger I was to meet on a subway in a big city and discuss metropolitan topics with such as David Byrne and top hats. You were the fictional love interest to my semi-autobiographical, slightly solitary female protagonist. Existing only in words on the paper. But one day you materialized, in the form of a sandy-colored cowboy, and instead of meeting on a subway, we met at an eastside watering hole.

We talked about David Byrne and top hats.

In our relatively small gestation period, I have come to feel that I’ve known you forever. Maybe it’s because you were a character I constructed, or maybe it’s because you and I are reassuringly similar. That the traits I’ve grown to understand about myself over the past 28 years are akin to the ones you share. When you randomly buy a 1980’s sleeveless denim vest, I understand why and when you wear it, there is no one more beautiful. No one more confident in the person he is and the unique interests he cultivates. I hope that never changes.

Certain I was that you were not real. That at one point you’d wake from the illusion that you created about me and decide to move on. But each morning I’d wake to discover you holding my hand stronger and stronger. You’ve let me cry. You’ve let me be angry. You’ve let me be indecisive. You’ve let me be human, a woman, and myself. Those are truths you should not thank me for, you say. But I do. Something that may be a given to you is not always common in others. To accept someone for who they are is an aberrant attribute it seems.

Or maybe you just like me.

I fall asleep frequently on your extra-long, green mid-century couch, it’s true. With all my anxieties of experiencing something that is new, something so once seemingly unobtainable, I drift into unconsciousness because I feel safe. Held. There is no place more comforting. I trail off to the sound of your feet walking across the concrete floor or fingers typing on the keys. A harmony that I hold onto knowing that you are there and you’ve shown that you are not going anywhere. Your smile is always waiting for me when I wake.

Have I given you the peace of mind that you have given me? I hope so. You should know that I will be there. That I am your fan. That I believe in you because you are the most genuine person anyone could ever meet.

I never wrote about this love thing.
At least in real life.
But here you are.

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