volume three: my first love letter

to the person who helped me get on my feet and who is worth stealing from

The Dead Poets Society will never be the same for me. Every time I see it I am gladly reminded of you. Every time I see Doctor House and Wilson, I’m reminded of us. I would be honoured if you said the same. You’re always on my mind and will forever be in my heart. With you, fear is a myth. With you, the only thing that is real is the world reflected in your eyes - which I find myself lost in often.

Sometimes, I worry that you’ll end up hating me. But you’re the wisest person I know. You’re the strongest and you are the sweetest. You are nature in a person. You are the weeping willow and the climbing ivy. Your laugh is the trickle of a stream and your smile lines are the roots of a daisy. When I breathe in your indigo scent it’s as if these sixteen years of endless suffering were nothing more than a nightmare and you would never know that. So even if you did hate me, I don’t think I could find it in myself to hate you back.

When you speak, the taste of honey coats my mouth and teeth. If ever you were to sing I whole-heartedly believe the angels would cry and the most sinful of them all would repent. And my god when you think it’s nothing short of an experience. I often think about how lucky I am to have gotten to see you function. When you think, I can see the cogs and wheels turning. It’s like your mind spins straw into gold. No matter how foolish the idea given to you by me, you somehow make perfect sense of it. I’ve never known anyone who is remotely like you. Your prose shifts the earth on its axis and your many talents are just as impressive as the pros. Kafka and Woolf I think would love you.

Every time your heart beats, it pushes more than blood through your body - it pumps you full of fire and passion. You love what you do and you love those who love you. Even if you’ve lost touch with your hobbies and even if you think you’ve lost yourself, there is still a fire in you. I see it bubbling just beneath the surface ready to scald.

You’re simultaneously the forest and the fire and you never let the two collide. You keep your composure and even when I see your demeanor crack, you rebuild. You don’t wait around for anyone else to do it for you. You scribble and scratch and ponder and figure it all out on your own and I envy you because the head on your shoulders is capable of mass destruction and also is capable of revival and rejuvenation beyond my imagination. Holiness lives in you. When you move, you blur the fourth dimension.

Sometimes when I stare at you for too long I can see the future. You’ve aged beautifully. Your smile is wider than ever and you’re finally wearing those glasses I think you look so beautiful in. There’s a smudge of dirt on your face from your garden, and I’m so tempted to reach out and rub it away but I know that this is an illusion and I won’t be able to - not yet. I hope that years in the future I’ll be there to finally do so.

I would compare you to the sun and the moon but I know better - I know you better. You’re neither alone, you are both together. Eclipse. You shine like the sun and you encourage growth, not just in me but in everyone deserving of it. You’re bright and free - similar to the summertime. And you are the moon, deep and mysterious, with secrets buried in each of your craters. But I think you are akin to an eclipse because you are chaos incarnate. Wild curls and even wilder thoughts. Despite being an organized person you are bursts of energy and you are yourself first before being anyone (or anything) else. And most importantly - a sentiment I hope I haven’t worn out yet - you are worth stealing from. Your brilliance is enough to make my rough exterior crack and for once I am okay with that - but I’ll never let you know.

On very hot days, I think of the letter I wrote to you at the end of tenth grade. Sometimes I wish that I kept it, because every word I used had a double meaning - which would be your name - woven into it. And right now, this Toronto heat is driving me mad. Instead of talking to you like a normal person, here I am talking about you.

Aside from how glorious it is to see you being, you make me immensely sad also. Because sometimes when life gets to be too much for you, you stop. I haven’t known you for too long but I definitely know you are no stranger to burnout. So I hope when you read this, it inspires you for at least a century and I hope that - as insignificant as this is - these words imprint on your heart. This is the closest you’ll get to seeing yourself through my eyes and to hearing yourself in my voice.

Sometimes we’re pirates. Sometimes we’re big-time authors. Sometimes we’re wine aunts. And every time we’re together. Sometimes I think that if we put our foreheads together the roots of your brain would break through my cranium and nest there and we would become intertwined. I know that’s not possible.

Yet for you I would patch any wound or fight any monster. I would cradle your mind and pick out any doubt you have. I would de-pollute you if your rivers and trees were tainted.

Caring for someone like you has made me get up every day and be alive. You receive me and you still talk to me like I am a person. So of course I will only ever think of you softly. But unfortunately there’s something not quite human about me. You’re a brilliant being and I can’t help but fear that I will tinge you with it.

But separate from all of this, you make me think of myself in a higher way. I’ve made you laugh. I’ve made you smile. And just something as simple as that from you is enough to know that I too, am worth it. I’m worth loving you.

So when hell freezes over that is when I’ll say I don’t love you.