Dear K,

I will write you a love letter. But not here. I will write you more than one love letter but not here. This space between us that exists here is too fragile for the crashing words and thrilling sentences in a love letter.

Between us here we have erected some sort of spider web of overly worked words, and melodrama and it is beautiful and unnecessary and great and full of self pity and oh how I love every minute of it, but it is fragile and delicate, but then maybe I wouldn't be honest to this space if I didn't write a love letter here.

" Dear K,

I don't know how long it has been since I've seen you. But I do know that I fell into a deep trap set by ourselves, and now I imagine sitting across a table from you and drinking wine with you and maybe at some point in the evening I point towards the cinema screen and kiss you on the cheek, slightly, not in a forward way, but in a way that reminds you of how young and earnest and bright I really am, and that reminds you that my breath smells of mint and warmth.

Or we never went to the movies, and instead it was spring or summer and after dinner, there has to be dinner, we walk in some perfumed garden and I steal your hand and wrap your fingers around mine, wouldn't that be grand?

We'll talk about the children we wouldn't want to have until we've known each other for at least half of this decade. You'll want to name them something practical like John or Susan and I'll argue for Telamachus and Orpheus and Persephone and Rhea or Euphrates or something out of Byron, but of course I don't really mean it, and neither do you, of course we don't even have any plans beyond whether or not to look the other in the eye and see whether the moonlight bouncing of their skin reminds you of the way you wanted to feel when you smelled flowers as a child, and whether or not that means you name a child Susan or John.

But more than these I want to fell your weight beside me. I want to slide into a booth at a restaurant and feel you move on my left, feel pulled into you slightly, but more the other way around. I want to walk down the street with you, and I want us to walk at the same pace because we figured out how fast the other person walks and we met somewhere in the middle. I wan to feel your breath as your lungs inhale and exhale. I want to watch your eyes as they watch mine and we'll try not to make a sign or laugh as we stare at each other face to face in bed on our sides in the morning.

I want to fail miserably at the Sunday crossword puzzle and have you take it away from me and master it easily and tease me mercilessly the rest of the day, because we've spent the whole day together.

I want to go out to dance and always have a dance partner and not have to bump and grind and rub up against strangers.

I think that it may be you that I want.

-K "

I know it isn't a very good love letter and it may be to honest, but it might all be a lie too. I'm not sure what's real in my emotion-box anymore. I've become a heartless romantic, cold and calculating and full of passion-less passion.

Where did I lose my targets?

-K