The scariest thing I’ve ever done was dropping my heart through a slot into outgoing mail.
That was yesterday morning. I haven’t eaten or slept since. The scariest thing I’m facing now is not knowing if my all will be enough.
Writing love letters isn’t as difficult as it used to be. It’s funny how simple the truth becomes when you’re with the right person. Sure, my heart was pounding as I scrawled “I love you” at the start of the second paragraph, but it was beating with certainty. I’m new to this sort of thing, but I’m not. I’ve loved before, and I’ve loved hard, but never like this. Never out loud. I poured every part of me into those three pages, and it left me drained. Everything I’ve got is floating between mail trucks and sorting machines in an envelope addressed to him.
I’m terrified for the day when it lands in his hands. Maybe tomorrow or Saturday, maybe not until Monday. It’ll be just as much his as it is mine, and he can do as he chooses with it. He can ignore it and leave it buried in a pile on his desk. He can read it once and throw it away. He can read it a thousand times and never speak to me again. He can call me the moment he’s read it through and tell me thank you, but it’s over. He can sit in silence and cry for everything broken between us. He can do whatever he chooses, and I have no say in it now.
The words leaked out of me like I was being bled out nice and slow. I confessed my fears and admitted to everything I want. I reminded him of all the magic we’ve known in our short time together. I told him that nothing would feel more wrong than ending this.
There’s a letter on its way south of here, my heart beaten and flattened until it fit through the slot of the mailbox. His name and address, plain and simple across the front. Beau Taplin’s words scrawled sincerely over the seal on the back…
“You are, always were, worth coming apart for.”
I hope that he can recognize the magnitude of it all. I hope that he understands how much weighs on his response, and I hope that he delivers it gently. Yesterday, I did the scariest thing I could imagine. Tomorrow, perhaps, he’ll have to do to the same. For today, I’m just stuck in wait. I’m open and exposed, praying that everything I’ve got might just be enough.