Confessions of a chimney

I wrote you a letter today.
It’s not the first and I can assure you it won’t be the last of these random little letters. My thoughts and emotions are of no specific order. Like a daydream, sometimes they do not make any sense at all. You probably cannot tell, but today I tried to squeeze my emotions into shorter sentences. I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I have considered calling you, meeting you and telling you this in person as we sip on bittersweet coffee. Yet telling you wouldn’t be any good for my anxiety and again I have always been pretty slow in processing words. My mind cannot detangle my tightly knotted thoughts fast enough to make them out into rational words, but on paper my pen is pretty articulate.

I have been trying to understand how you managed to creep up on me like that.

How I let you hack all my defense systems. I literally handed you a blank cheque to do as you please, to scribble on it whatever you wanted from me, at whatever cost. I sit here and fail to fathom how that crooked smile won me over.  How that little bit of imperfection drew me even closer to you. And yet, I didn’t want to fix it, or you. Maybe I was intrigued by the way your imperfection mirrored mine. I liked the thought that a tiny bit of my own assymmetry could find solace in your own. When you said I only liked the idea of you, it tore me apart, but I didn’t try to correct you. I couldn’t tell you. How could I tell you that I loved every intricate detail there could possibly be of you.
How could I lay myself bare to be preyed upon?How could I possibly give you that much power?

In my letter I explained, or tried to, how I found you.

I found you during those rare moments when you would stop overthinking and say the most wreckless of things. I found you on the tiny bits of information that you’d throw at me in moments of weakness. Those innate moments when you threw caution to the wind and told me about your dreams. I found you in moments when we would play hide and seek with reality and give in to the madness. The way you passionately  talked about the things you love. I found you in the slur of your voice after your second glass of red wine. I found my love of you in all these minuscule drops that make up the storm that is you.

So you see, you did creep up on me. I cannot quite pinpoint a specific detail or a day when I fell for you. All these little things kept piling up until one day I found myself already in a state of ‘fallen’ .

I know my letter is all in spirals , but that’s because I didn’t know where to begin, but I’m sure the beginning is somewhere in between the lines,
or maybe the disorder is a desperate attempt for you to wander around the labyrinths of my thoughts a bit longer,
Maybe organize them a little,
Maybe take out the cobwebs from the grey areas I rarely visit,
Maybe understand me a little.

And then perhaps, think of me the way I do of you.

As a mystery book which keeps you well in the suspense zone, taming you, drawing you nearer to the end with each flip of a page.
I want you to find me as I did you, but more importantly l need you to look. I want you to go through the maze that is myself and get lost in the depths of my soul. You’d have to look and let your gaze linger. Oh the surety that youd find me!

I hope the suspense will be enough bait to draw you closer to my mind, and in turn to me so that when you keep flipping pages frantically as the suspense intensifies, we’ll finally be on the same page.
The page where I fell for you and you didn’t claim to be afraid of heights.
Where you swam in my deep waters and I didn’t swear I was petrified of depth.

The page where I threw caution to the wind and you didn’t graciously hide yours in a blanket of insecurities. A place where we finally laid our feelings on the table and made one hell of a feast. I would rather we vomit on our toxicities than continue to choke on nonchalance.

In my letter, I told you about how I fantasized about a parallel universe where we had made all the right choices. A place where we had been less wary and a tad more spontaneous. A universe where we weren’t just another Romeo and Juliet who died from a fancy version of broken telephone. A universe where we dauntlessly told each other exactly how we felt.
Because that’s how you throw love, like confetti. You worry about the mess tomorrow.

We sat by the fireplace, pride and I. We watched the letter burn in the fire rays, dancing around the flames before vanishing. We took more sips of our hot chocolate and laughed and laughed