To the Love of my Life

Never in my life have I felt such a connection as great as this. The very core of my soul longs for you---and you only. That is how much I want you.

But then, as often as I fall in love, I do not receive it in return. Truth be told, I have not experienced a tangible reciprocity of affection. Nor have I truly given it.

And then it dawns on me:

Am I that much of a wretched man to not be worthy of receiving and enjoying the ecstasy and satisfaction of true love?

Probably so. For I, as the liar that I am, have fooled the hearts of many a man and a woman. I am even more of a wretched monster than I could even think of. I have lied every day about what I am, who I long for and the dreams I yearn to achieve. I lie to the world that my very existence aims for all to be well---when in fact, what I want is simply to love, and be loved in return.

But, as it is with all selfish ambitions, that cannot be. For a greater power beyond us had not made us to love and live as such. And that is the law. It cannot be broken---and it is rightfully so.

Which is why I write this, o love of my life, this letter which bears the pain of a love I cannot share with you, a love I cannot receive from you, and a love I cannot withhold from you.

I write this with the hope that one day, destiny would be so very kind as to give you the chance to read this, to realize that it is you who I write of and to give that much elusive pleasure of knowing that somewhere in this seemingly heartless world, someone loves you.