An untitled letter

Photo by Travis Grossen

I wrote about you once. Not on paper, but in the folds of my brain. I told a story that was only for me--a dream that I was too scared to share out loud. No one would ever know. Just like one can’t ever really know a person.

You saw me, and you believed in me, and you loved me. To you, I was worth something. I wasn’t a time-filler, and I wasn’t just a silly nice girl. You were proud to know me and to hold me. We’d get up in the morning and laugh because we’d gotten to have another day together. How lucky were we? It seemed almost unfair. You made me so comfortable and yet so nervously excited. The way you looked at me made me feel real in ways I never had. There were no expectations. There was no settling. Just being together. Now. That’s all there ever was. And that’s all I ever wanted. I was so happy. You made me feel safe for the first time in forever. You made me believe that I could trust my feelings again. That for once it wasn’t all in my head.

But it was. A dream tucked away in the folds of my brain. Only for me.