Hi Senam E.
Yesterday, we spoke at length. You spoke about how you doubt my love at times. I’m sorry I’m not as objective as your ideal man. But I can promise that I’d have loved you as fiercely as you deserve.
I can promise you that if you let me, I will kiss you every day that I love you, because to me your lips are as impeccable as perfection can be.
I promise you that I will always tell you I love you, and not a day will go by that I will forget. Even if I’m tired, dredged with anxiety, and exhausted from the intensities of my day, I will always remember to tell you how I feel.
But I can’t promise that we won’t fight. I can’t promise you that we won’t have passionate discussions and get into arguments about absolutely everything and nonsensical nothings. I can’t promise you that we won’t give each other desirous kisses afterwards and fall in love all over again should you desire that.
I can promise you that I will always keep you motivated and be your best cheerleader (No, I won’t wear pompoms). I’ll always be by your side when you are weary and torn and on the verge of falling apart.
I can promise you that I will love you so unconditionally that it will make you deliriously happy.
I can’t promise that I will have the best taste in movies, or TV shows, or ever get over your bad cooking habits. I have a guilty spot for Game of Thrones, absolutely adore The Mentalist, and I will always be addicted to Coke and Pizza (Hawaiian, that is). But we both love Sonnie Badu and khebab and Shatta Wale, so it’s okay. We’ll be okay.
I can promise you that I love your scent; a mixture of Axe, optimism, and security. I could spend ages with my face buried into your chest, playing with your almost natural hair, your arms wrapped tightly around me as a sense of serenity washes over me.
I can promise you that I will hold your hand walking down the street, at Silverbird, at the beans center, at restaurants, on the trotro, in the church, taxi, and now. But I can’t promise that that my hands will be anything but cold. It’s a good thing that yours are consistently, amazingly warm (even when it rains). After all, opposites attract.
I can promise you that you make me happier than anything, with the little things you do and the small things you notice about me. The way you walk and your hips sway, always stand your ground for me, the way your eyes glimmered in white hot lust before you kissed me on Thursday. The way I want you to hold me in the morning when I’m slightly tired, and the way your voice lilts strongly, but softly, when you say that you love me.
I can promise you that I do, very much so, love you too.
I can promise you that the day you left me, you broke me whenyou admitted that every single time you said you loved me, you never meant it. I can’t promise you that you didn’t instill into my very subconscious to question any other woman in my life if she were to ever tell me she loved me.
I can’t promise you that I will ever forgive you for what you did to me. I hold no hatred, ill feelings, or maliciousness towards you, but that doesn’t mean you deserve my forgiveness for all the things you did. I can promise you that you shattered, crushed, and absolutely demolished the very essence of loving in my heart.
And you spoke of my pretence when you speak about the new guy. I can’t tell you to leave him just like that, my ideals as a gentleman don’t allow that. I will advise you on how to make your relationship with work out to the best. After all, all that matters is your happiness, and like you’ve said on many occasions, you love him. When I tell you to ignore his shortcomings, it’s only because I love you and want you to be happy with the person you love.
I have come to learn that saying “I love you” does not necesarily require me to only prove that when you’re in a relationship with me. I can love you from afar. In my earlier letter, here, I spoke of how I was done loving you. I lied. What I’m actually done with, is expecting a reciprocation of the love I show you. And I’m indeed sorry for making you feel uncomfortable, but I can’t promise you that I’d stop anytime soon.
I can’t promise you that I can change the ideals in your head that I was never good enough for you. I’m sorry for loving you to pieces, for wanting to build a future with you, for wanting to write poetry for you. I can’t promise you that you will meet someone that will mentally and emotionally support you, but I wish you the best of luck that you do. I just hope you actually love the man who might someday love you as much as I did.