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Allison's Letter To Me (3/10/2015)
6 years ago
My musings
Dear Devon,
Sometimes I just start typing, random thoughts, feelings, whatever is in my head. Just to try and get things out a bit. I don’t try to make it make sense to anyone but myself, and sometimes it doesn’t even make sense to me, which is ok too. But the words just flow out of my fingers and I strike the keys as if in a trance. I’m hoping that this works out that way.
To ask me how you make me feel is like asking someone to describe a color to a person who was born blind. During our earlier conversations on pof, something sparked in my mind, and in my chest. It wasn’t the finale of a fourth of July fireworks display, but rather a tiny flame, like a votive candle. It was casual but effective. Reading your words impressed me a great deal. Your flow, your banter, I felt comfortable, even after you told me about what you had done. I grew so curious.
The curiosity turned into confusion. How is it that I can physically miss someone I’ve never met? Why do I lay in bed imagining this man’s hands roaming my body, touching my face, looking in my eyes, kissing me with a gentleness that almost hurts? What the Hell have I gotten myself into? But that votive candle grew to a raging inferno. A fire of passion and desire I have heard more than a few people tell me that I’m hot or sexy, or beautiful or whatever. Some of them may have even meant it. But it didn’t touch me inside. Probably because they weren’t trying to look inside. It’s very easy to feel sexy when you’re wearing slutty underwear and being groped. It’s easy to pretend. But it’s shallow and unfulfilling and brings my loneliness to an even deeper level. Emotionally, mentally unstimulated. But not entirely hopeless. I mean my God there are so many people on this Earth, there has to be someone out there who can bring my own thoughts right out of my head like they’re reading a book. Right?! Somebody who makes me thing, “Finally!” Somebody who says words that stop me in my tracks. Somebody who makes me feel beautiful without trying.
I have a feeling that when I read this through it’s going to be horrid. Fuck it. I’m on a roll now. When you spoke about simplicity, and not needing makeup, when you brushed my hair off my forehead, and commented on my nose ring, you have absolutely no idea whatsoever how nice that was. Refreshing. Yup there’s that word again. Refreshing like ice cold water after crossing a desert. When you commented on my nail polish, and spoke about finding art in everything, I found that incomprehensible. The simplest smallest seemingly insignificant things. Those are the things that take my breath away. Those are the things that make me feel bashful and silly and feminine and act shy like a love struck school girl.
The way you look at me, it stuns me. Your eyes are so deep and magical and gorgeous and I want to jump into them like a lake and just bathe in everything they’ve seen.
You asked me, in Wendy’s, if I would be prepared for the inevitable fallout that will come with my loved ones discovery of your past. I thought about that today. I came to a conclusion. If I am truly happy and in love with someone, that should be enough. People who love me, if they can’t handle or understand it or give me an “us or him” choice, I would have to say goodbye. If anyone were to put me in that unfair position, well, to me that isn’t love. I can see not wanting your daughter/sister/whatever to be with someone who beats her or cheats or something like that. (I wouldn’t stay with that person anyways) But to say “you can’t be with him because of his past,” is bullshit. Anyone who would want to leave my life because of that, I wouldn’t stop them.
You also asked me if I could with you anywhere, and when, what would I choose. I believe there was more to the questions but I can’t recall. Anyways, I would be with you at a big freshwater lake, but on a small piece of beach. Just us and the birds. The weather would be nice, hot but not stiff-ling and not humid. There would be a gentle cool breeze. We would have just come back from a canoe ride around the lake, taking photos. We’d swim and splash and relax and feel free. When the sun began to set we would take off our bathing suits and hold each other in the water, and make love on the beach As far as when, well, this summer would be great.
I hope this letter served to shed some light on things. In my eyes, you are not a monster, and you are more than worthy of my awe and admiration. I feel as though this is but a start to something beautiful. Beautiful, and flawed, just like us.
Yours truly,
Alison Anne Cornell
Sometimes I just start typing, random thoughts, feelings, whatever is in my head. Just to try and get things out a bit. I don’t try to make it make sense to anyone but myself, and sometimes it doesn’t even make sense to me, which is ok too. But the words just flow out of my fingers and I strike the keys as if in a trance. I’m hoping that this works out that way.
To ask me how you make me feel is like asking someone to describe a color to a person who was born blind. During our earlier conversations on pof, something sparked in my mind, and in my chest. It wasn’t the finale of a fourth of July fireworks display, but rather a tiny flame, like a votive candle. It was casual but effective. Reading your words impressed me a great deal. Your flow, your banter, I felt comfortable, even after you told me about what you had done. I grew so curious.
The curiosity turned into confusion. How is it that I can physically miss someone I’ve never met? Why do I lay in bed imagining this man’s hands roaming my body, touching my face, looking in my eyes, kissing me with a gentleness that almost hurts? What the Hell have I gotten myself into? But that votive candle grew to a raging inferno. A fire of passion and desire I have heard more than a few people tell me that I’m hot or sexy, or beautiful or whatever. Some of them may have even meant it. But it didn’t touch me inside. Probably because they weren’t trying to look inside. It’s very easy to feel sexy when you’re wearing slutty underwear and being groped. It’s easy to pretend. But it’s shallow and unfulfilling and brings my loneliness to an even deeper level. Emotionally, mentally unstimulated. But not entirely hopeless. I mean my God there are so many people on this Earth, there has to be someone out there who can bring my own thoughts right out of my head like they’re reading a book. Right?! Somebody who makes me thing, “Finally!” Somebody who says words that stop me in my tracks. Somebody who makes me feel beautiful without trying.
I have a feeling that when I read this through it’s going to be horrid. Fuck it. I’m on a roll now. When you spoke about simplicity, and not needing makeup, when you brushed my hair off my forehead, and commented on my nose ring, you have absolutely no idea whatsoever how nice that was. Refreshing. Yup there’s that word again. Refreshing like ice cold water after crossing a desert. When you commented on my nail polish, and spoke about finding art in everything, I found that incomprehensible. The simplest smallest seemingly insignificant things. Those are the things that take my breath away. Those are the things that make me feel bashful and silly and feminine and act shy like a love struck school girl.
The way you look at me, it stuns me. Your eyes are so deep and magical and gorgeous and I want to jump into them like a lake and just bathe in everything they’ve seen.
You asked me, in Wendy’s, if I would be prepared for the inevitable fallout that will come with my loved ones discovery of your past. I thought about that today. I came to a conclusion. If I am truly happy and in love with someone, that should be enough. People who love me, if they can’t handle or understand it or give me an “us or him” choice, I would have to say goodbye. If anyone were to put me in that unfair position, well, to me that isn’t love. I can see not wanting your daughter/sister/whatever to be with someone who beats her or cheats or something like that. (I wouldn’t stay with that person anyways) But to say “you can’t be with him because of his past,” is bullshit. Anyone who would want to leave my life because of that, I wouldn’t stop them.
You also asked me if I could with you anywhere, and when, what would I choose. I believe there was more to the questions but I can’t recall. Anyways, I would be with you at a big freshwater lake, but on a small piece of beach. Just us and the birds. The weather would be nice, hot but not stiff-ling and not humid. There would be a gentle cool breeze. We would have just come back from a canoe ride around the lake, taking photos. We’d swim and splash and relax and feel free. When the sun began to set we would take off our bathing suits and hold each other in the water, and make love on the beach As far as when, well, this summer would be great.
I hope this letter served to shed some light on things. In my eyes, you are not a monster, and you are more than worthy of my awe and admiration. I feel as though this is but a start to something beautiful. Beautiful, and flawed, just like us.
Yours truly,
Alison Anne Cornell
