Dearest,
You wrote me a letter once and the last line said
"I choose you."
The words were musical to me, but they felt more like they were
meant for you. I think that is what made them special, that they
were the words you needed to hear whispered in your ear and so
your heart opened and whispered them into mine, because just
maybe I needed them too.
Well I've written some poems for other people before in days
gone by and I've poured words meant for me into the open hearts
of other people just to find that their jar was already full, or
perhaps it wasn't opened in the first place.
And now I know you're scared because what if their veins hadn't
been full of predetermined sweet nothings given to them
unnecessarily by others in this confusingly backwards way? What
if their jars had been open and accepted my insecurities just to
sing reassurances into my ear?
I'll entertain Fate on my doorstep for long enough to tell her
that I am glad, for if she had allowed this to happen I would
have been unhappy. Fate crafted the individuals before you
with a fatal flaw because she knew that I would have
ultimately been disenchanted, downtrodden, disturbed. And so
with a gleam in her eye she led me to you.
And perhaps you'll theorize that this, then, was no choice. Fate
did it for me, yes? My response is as follows:
I chose you long before Fate threw her hat into the ring. Or
perhaps she had thrown it into the ring and blew the wind just
so on that first summer day when I saw your face, red-cheeked
and blue eyed, brown-haired and loud-laughing. Even if she
had, she still let me choose. For Fate only modifies the
environment, but the heart is a complex, wild thing that is not
to be tampered with. So when a million fireworks rattled my
ribcage the second I saw you, Fate smiled. Her plan had
worked. I did not decide that I would feel a small earthquake
inside of my body every time I laid eyes on you. But my heart
chose you. Unashamedly. Instantly.
Perhaps it once chose the others, too. But upon seeing that they
were not for me, it paused. It took a while, but it moved on.
Then there was you. It was afraid at first, but Fate took it by the
hand and showed me that your jar was not empty. And then
you showed me that it contained everything I needed to hear
within it. So I did not move on. I chose you. I choose you, still.
Forever. Until your jar is full and Fate tells me that it is time to
close the curtains, draw the shutters, lock the front doors and,
someday, leave the house.
But something tells me that I will begin to send postcards to my
former address. And perhaps I'll stumble upon the threshold,
years later, and find a jar.
And I'll choose you.