Page 76 of Love & Letter Charms
Have you ever wondered what it’s like to feel everything too much? Every emotion amplified until it’s almost unbearable? The smallest joy becomes ecstasy. The mildest disappointment becomes
I have spent my life learning to contain it all. Building walls. Creating distance. Finding safety in solitude and
Music.
I am not certain whether I have spoken to you of the music. I think not, for I still cling rather tightly to the safety of this anonymity, and I’ve been wary of sharing anything that might give away
But the music helps.
It is not that I do not want to feel. It is that I feel too intensely. I am a cup filled beyond its capacity, perpetually spilling over.
And LOVE? Love terrifies me more than anything. Because if ordinary emotions already consume me, then love would
I do not want to drown in it, R.
I do not want to drown.
I do not want to drown.
And your words. Your terrible, wonderful words. They keep finding me, no matter how I hide. ‘You already have it all,’ you said. As if you’ve surrendered something precious into my keeping without my consent. As if I’m supposed to know what to do with this … this …
It feels like
SO MUCH.
TOO MUCH.
I believe I should climb into bed before my quill wanders its way right off the edge of this
My dearest L,
I find myself oddly speechless after reading your letter—an unusual state for me, as you well know. Your driftshade-induced honesty has given me a glimpse of something I’ve long suspected but never fully understood until now.
First, I must congratulate you on your triumphant completion of dare number nine. I confess to a not-so-small smile at the thought of you, my cautious L, engaging in something so delightfully improper. Though I suspect by the time you read this letter, you may be cursing both me and my ‘darned list.’
Please do not regret what you’ve shared. I understand the morning light often makes us wish we could reclaim our nighttime confessions, but I beg you—do not take these words back. They are precious to me beyond measure.
I cannot claim to understand what it means to feel everything so intensely. To experience the world as you do, where every emotion threatens to overflow its boundaries. I can only try to imagine what that must be like, to live with such depth of feeling that you must build walls to contain it.
And now I understand why my words sometimes require days of silence afterward. Why you need time and space to process what passes between us. Each letter is not merely words on paper for you, but waves that crash against those carefully constructed barriers.
But listen to me, L. Listen carefully.
I swear to you that I would never let you drown.
If you fear the overwhelming tide of feeling, then let me be your anchor. Let me be the steady rock against which those waves break. I promise you—with everything I am—that Iwould hold you firm through any storm of emotion. You will not be swept away.
You fear that love would consume you? It need not. Not if you have someone to help you carry it. Not if you have someone who understands that sometimes you need retreat, sometimes you need silence, sometimes you need space to breathe when it all becomes too much.
I know these are only words, and perhaps you cannot bring yourself to trust them. You know me as teasing, light-hearted, rarely serious. It may be difficult to reconcile that with someone who claims to be solid and steadfast—an anchor in turbulent waters.
But L, I am still here. After nearly a year of letters, I am still here. I have watched the seasons change through our correspondence, have shared countless thoughts with you, have found myself transformed by your words. And if there is one thing you can trust, it is this:
I love you.
I have kept myself from writing those words for so long because I knew they would frighten you, but I want to leave you with no doubt:
I LOVE YOU.
