Dear You,
Hi.
How have you been? I hope this letter finds you well — then again, I highly doubt that this letter will ever find you, the same way it will be highly unlikely for our paths to cross again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely okay with that. It’s just one of those things — beautiful things, that life allows you to experience — a fleeting but alluring evening.
I’ve accepted the fate of never laying my eyes, personally, on you again, yet here I am still thinking about you after what, a month? What can I say? Perhaps the whiskey you gave me has a long-lasting effect because until now, I’m still drinking the idea of you and that evening: the laughter, the conversation, the awkward moments in between, those reluctant touches.
To respond to your statement that night when I tried opening up the topic of sex, I wasn’t disappointed, no — I was impressed, astounded even. I was impressed by your virtues and your chivalry.
To be honest, your accolades didn’t really galvanize me; it was your passion that got me hooked. When the wine’s poison started to take effect on you and the stories just rushed out from your mouth, it was just — intoxicating. The whiskey didn’t do much for my equanimity, but your infectious passion and compassion got me inebriated.
With each sip I took after that night, I kept on thinking of the things I should have done. Maybe, I should have arrived a little bit later, maybe I should have talked a little more slowly? Maybe, I should have been more unguarded? I should have been more open? I should have been more — myself?
And the most haunting of these queries is: maybe I should have kissed you?
But I couldn’t — I was too afraid. I knew in my heart that if I had kissed you, I would’ve meant it. I wasn’t ready to kiss with meaning again.
I came to that dinner expecting a superficial conversation and frankly, just meaningless sex. There were some moments from that evening that could have lead to sex but I couldn’t take it because… you’re a good man. I promised myself I’d stray away from the lips of a good man.
I’m not saying that you’re too good for me. I’m just saying that I was, and am still currently in a bad place; I just can’t be in anything too real right now. I’m not a fan of disturbing someone’s peace when mine is nonexistent.
But damn, what if, right?
Way to steal someone’s affection with just words, good car music, semi-reckless driving (HAHA sorry still can’t let it go and your fraternity stories my gosh), Japanese food, and alcohol.
I’m sure my memory is long forgotten from your end — as I hope. I’m not exactly a haunting specimen.
Cheers, to the last time I drink from this cup, and the idea of us.
Cheers.
