Letter #5: Words.

Dear you,

“Every single day that passes by is making me more dishonest. There’s too much I make up as soon as I wake up; too much I make up for me. But I’ve decided to keep you out of all the lies, and see you the way you are.”       -Magic Man lyrics

I’m so good with words and yet such an amateur. I know what words are supposed to do. What they can mean to people. What any given string of words could do for someone’s soul. I’ve learned how to make words stick. I’ve learned how to create what people will remember.

But I haven’t learned how to verbalize the things I want to say the most. And it’s not because I’m unwilling. I don’t know how. And what good is it to say “I can’t put it into words” when words are all we have?

In a way, it’s always been fear. That sensation that drives me to grip my deepest emotions tightly, lest the masses grapple and trample them. Expressing myself feels like scattering pieces of my heart. It leaves me feeling worn. Devalued. Frayed.  Laying a soul bare is risky business.

Some people would call that introversion. But to me, it feels like lying. It feels like failure. Hiding the truth because of fear. That’s lying, right? And lying – hiding – is the most soul-shattering failure I’ve ever known. It binds you. It ties you down to who you don’t want to be.

That’s where you come in. I’ve never felt the pressure to be self-protective around you. Since day one, you’ve been a deposit box, and to life-changing degrees. Yeah. You’ve changed my life. With you, I’ve never dolled up my soul; I’ve never idealized yours’. We’ve just kind of been gruesomely honest, and without pressure to struggle less painfully. And I mean, every conversation hasn’t been like that. In fact, you’re usually pretty chill.

But I’m not saying that there haven’t been 4:30 AM mornings where I’ve just emptied out my soul to you. The parts that I can’t put into writing. The insecurities that even my own mother sneers at. The fears that I will never get over. The scars that I didn’t know were there, until too late. And you know what? I’ve been able to continue struggling through those things with you. Together shouldering burdens. I’m always eager to learn and analyze people's souls, putting others' pain into psychological terms sometimes. Oversimplifying them, too. And I don’t know, sometimes I feel like a huge jerk because of that. Meanwhile, you’ve never labeled me. You’ve never pressured me. You’ve known me, loved me, and grown me sheerly as a companion. And for that I’ve been so, so grateful.

When other people see that something is wrong with you, they feel responsible for fixing you. As if they could come up with a solution. You’ve never done that to me. You’ve listened to what I have to say, in all its incoherency and rubbish. And then you’ve gently loved who I am anyway, providing endless valuable perspective along the way. I wouldn't know what that looked like without you. I didn’t know what it felt like to love somebody so powerfully just for who they are, and nothing else. I didn’t know that I’d just accept you as you were, and find that returned 1000x.

I can’t get over how much I’ve seen from knowing you, the beauty you offer this world, and the depth you brought to my heart. Cheers to you, showing me hope, transparency, and depth. I love you a lot. That’s the best way to put it.

I would word it better, but I can’t really put it into words. Stinks, considering words are all we have.

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