My true love, Quinn,
Yes, Quinn, you are my true love. I can already hear your gorgeous, baby sunshine voice, calling me impetuous, brash, daring, even.
The audacity, the foolishness of my tendencies to be audacious, and my recklessness—yes, I hear you saying this all to me now.
How could I dare state such a claim on you when you love another?
Because I know it’s real, Quinn. I know we’re real. I was looking at your pictures today and I felt my dead heart restarting again, pumping something that felt like life and blood and real pain and dreams again.
Will you again ignore this claim? The claim you sent to me long ago?
No not during our relationship or even when we first met, darling.
It’s a primal sort of thing I feel we have, an almost old world, old fashioned..
Fuck it. I’ve erased like so much of this letter, trying to figure out how to reach you so you’ll write me back.
God, I just want you so much, Quinn, & not in the way you think, either—-I just want you to feel safe with me and happy and secure and loved, that’s all.
I know you’ve been hurt for so long, I just want you to be safe. Happy. Warm. Secure. Loved. Validated. Comforted. Smiling.
Love forever and ever and even more after that,
Your Rebecca
About the Creator
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More stories from Melissa Ingoldsby and writers in Poets and other communities.
Great-Grandfather Eldridge’s Poetry
Recently, I learned that my great-grandfather, on my fathers side of the family, wrote quite a bit of poetry. A family member put together a book of his poetry. I had no idea until recently. It was such a wonderful pleasure connecting to his words, written so long ago! I had never met him because he died long before I was born. From what I’ve been told, his wife died during childbirth. It makes me wonder how similar I may be to some of my ancestors, in the fashion in which I reflect and write.
By Rowan Finley about 12 hours ago in Poets
Comments (3)
I can relate to how you can really like someone that you feel deserves to be treated better than they are treated and if given the opportunity, you would desire to show them how love is supposed to be.
The struggle to find the words that will produce the desired effect, especially as it pertains to love in any of its forms. But the effort is futile, for we cannot make another love us, though we cast every spell & incantation ever known. No, we cannot make them love us, not until their eye has been caught, or perhaps their ear, or something else. Until they finally begin to see us, to hear us, to really see & hear, can they find that love for us within themselves. For only then does what is awkward become grace, what is plain become beautiful, what is avoided & distant draw near. Even then, we cannot make it happen. But we sure can still blow it!
That was beautiful, Melissa! I think every reader will relate to the message.