Learning To Love You More




Assignment #44
Make a "LTLYM assignment".

"Write a love letter without using romantic language."
Brooklyn, New York USA



For example, don't use words like love, adore, desire, wish, hope, missing you, affection, tender, dear, passion, heart, touch, burning, etc. Using "like" is okay, though. It's not too romantic.
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I'm getting that grumbling in my chest again. You're away and I get that sense like I should take some antacid. I found some socks of yours today. One is green and long, the other is thick and white. I like the green one. It has a hole in the big toe and a gaping patch missing in the heel. I like it because you never have socks that match. I try to see you in my mind's eye, where you are now, well dressed and cool, wearing one blue sock and one brown one, with a hole in the toe. I wonder if you know these socks are here, and if so, if it puts me in your mind's eye. You'd see me making the bed, finding your socks on the floor, writing a letter. I wonder if you can see the sun shining in the window and the way it hits the coffee pot and the dirty spoons on the kitchen counter. The light bounces off and makes a crescent moon shape on the wall.
It's very humid here, like a jungle or an oven. Just breathing is exhausting. It's okay, though. I suppose it's very chilly where you are. I've been seeing someone. He is nice. I thought you should know. But not because I don't think we can work it out. I know why you left. It was cold there and we needed space. I just didn't realize it would be so much space. I wouldn't mind being so cold as long as you wore your holey socks and let me be near. I don't think too much of what was. I try to stay present. Presently, I am writing to you and then I will go out to meet this nice someone. He's very traditional; dinner and a movie or dinner and dancing or dinner followed by the opera. But, as you know, I never much cared for opera, at least not with nice people. Do you see any opera there? Your days must be full. Or maybe they are dull. Days in this heat go on and on. Even at night the air is so sticky.
What goes on there, with you and the things you are doing? Are you seeing someone? I don't mind. It's only fair. But there is this thing between you and me and even across this much weather and space, it's not over. This sounds so corny, but the truth is, I am sure there is more to come. I knew the day you stormed out, your pupil, the left one, the good one, twitched and told me you'd not stay away too long. Your mismatched eyes, just like your socks, stayed behind. They are here so I know you'll be too. You'll come to get them because you won't see clearly, and I'll be waiting. My palms will sweat so you'll put them on your forehead. And we wont go dancing or have a night at the opera. You will just leave my hands there, perspiring and deliberate, and it'll be enough.