Dear Both Hands,

I love you more than life itself. I have not known a happier me than with you. I never imagined such radiance. I float. I carry no load. Is love an erasure of the most forlorn me and you? I need love as a newborn needs its milk. Love envelopes me, harvests me, as a chrysalis does a caterpillar. I hold onto you, my love, and pray for endless moments. Soft and Gentle, your hands dissolve into my own, your fingers trace my face. We could fall into infinity, but you would break your fall and fly away. And I would drown in the waters alone, waves mocking my folly.

I’m going away for a while. I don’t know where, all I know is that I cannot see or talk to you for some time. You need not respond to this letter. Please do not come by my house, I might let myself go. I am safe alone, but not in your presence. If I stay it will be me who goes with a broken heart, guilt and regret trailing behind.

It is bad timing, right? How can you say you love me and be with someone else? How can you say that you would be with me in an instant, if she was not in your life? I will go on loving you and you loving me without each other together. Time is on my side. Time will heal me. Time will tell. No! Timing is a weak excuse. Irony: I love. I am in love. I am experiencing the most passionate, transcendent, magnetic emotion, which leaves us all idyllic, hopeful, mesmerized, and magical. Yet, your circumstances have made it bleak, barren, broken. My love is dormant. No more darling. No more waiting. I have waited too long knowing the inevitable outcome.

My love for you ends in a loss of you, a loss of me, a loss of happy encounters, a loss of hypnotic smiles, a loss of supple hands, a loss of witty remarks. My love for you ends in a spoiled me, a duped me, a sad me. 'It's just a phase, you just need to meet a guy, if it’s really meant to be, then time will tell, you just need a good cry, it's just a phase, it’s bad timing, you'll get over it...' It's the clichés that make me digest the pain painlessly, but the clichés are the artificial avoidances of the truth, the fantastical hopes that lay us in our dreams. The lies give us peace.

Please go with her. She and you are a good pair. I shall look at your picture on my desk everyday, thinking of you many times a day. Your rosy cheeks, your strawberry blonde hair, your porcelain hands rousing my body, your smooth lips tenderly kissing mine. I will forever reinvent that night we hugged in front of your car, and you into my arms leapt, and I nervously accepted. Our stare became one, our skin caressed. The message was simple: I am loving you. I hope that one day I can escape the loss of loving you. But will I ever be able to look at you and not love you more than life itself? The message is simple: No.