Dear, Katherine
This is the second letter I'm typing out to you without the intent to ever send. I know it's been over a year and I should've probably written far more. But I guess I always just assume you've forgotten me the way that time forgets all beasts that wander a gentle Earth. I guess I just assume everyone forgets me. I wonder what would've had happened had I never left. But I know you are a woman of your own world. Time and space gravitates around you like the pull of
the brightest sun. And I am just a small comet caught in that alluring and beautiful pull that could never be escaped.
I am still a boy in so many ways. I often wonder at what age you become a man. Is it when you first have sex? Is it when you do something spectacular? I must be a long way off if either of those are true.
What life lived that I've written these letters with the knowledge that I'll likely die having never showed them to you. With you never knowing the impact made by falling stars in eyes so bright.
The same as Alysa. The same as Powell. The words never spoken are so often the loudest and most resonant throughout time.
But such is life. I once did the same with Mrs. Powell many years ago when I was just a boy after she left to England when I was 17. And I never saw her again. And still the letters I wrote to her over all those years into my twenties fill my drafts box and the space between my thoughts like some long forgot ships endlessly trotting through the waves searching for a beach of peaceful tranquility that will never be found. Sometimes I wonder if I just replaced one mother-figure for another. How special I thought I was to her. How important I thought I was to her.
And like her...I fell in love with you.
Something I'd often considered telling you time and time again. Like it would make a difference to anything. Not that I'd want it to. I know you were happy before I ever entered into your life. And I know you're happy with the way things are and were. I know that I was just some random young man who walked into your life. Though, to be fair, you were the one who walked into mine.
A young man, lost and alone in a new city on the edge of the country suddenly accosted by a dashing, charming, beautiful young woman? How could he ever develop any sort of interest in her?
I know I'm just some young man to you. A boy. And I'd never be more than that. I'd never want to ruin what you have with your man. It seems so rare and so beautiful. I'll never understand you, the same way you'll never understand me. I'll never understand how you spend time with young men and enjoy their company while at the same time seeing them as boys. I'll never understand what you wanted with me. I hope it really was just for friends. Or was it for something more, a fun partner perhaps? Or perhaps even more than that?
I'll never understand how older women look at boys like me and desire the fun out of them instead of actually wanting to know them and care about them. And I'll never be able to stop questioning your true intentions and wonder about whether I can trust you.
But you'll have to forgive me, I've been hurt a lot in my past. Not just by older women I thought were so safe and nurturing like you. But by everyone. I'm scared to let anyone in again.
You have no idea what it was like only hearing from your peers how ugly you are. Girls calling you grease for your acne. Other boys telling you if you haven't killed yourself before 40 you'd end up a virgin in your 40s. Getting beat up.
That's another reason I'd never be able to be with you: You were having sex with boyfriends at that point and a part of me would always be jealous and envious even though I have no right to be. Knowing that I waited because when I was a boy so alone and needed someone the most I thought it would be so romantic to wait for the woman who loves me and actually wants me and would love that I waited for her.
Maybe I'm permanently broken because of it all. I don't know. I just know I felt a shared past with you. A darker past that broke me and forced me back into the light.
I know I want to know more about you.
I want to ask you about all of your photos from when you were my age and talk about how incredible it would've been to have known you back then but how lucky I am to even know you at all now.
How lucky I'd be if you ever did reveal to me that the reason you walked into my life like you did is because...you did get a crush on me. The way I have a massive one on you.
Life has changed so much here recently and now after turning my life around thanks to the things you taught me, I've gotten back to my roots. Back to the things that made me so happy as a boy. My music, my singing.
My EP is taking me a long time but I've played a couple venues and I got approached by a talent agent who wants me for my vocal skills but also for modelling.
I'm not sure how I feel about that. I know you once called me attractive but I don't really feel it and I'm far from beautiful. I was always told how ugly I was. It's hard for me to believe anything else and now I'm SO scared. I don't even know what I'm scared about. Maybe that I fail at this too the way I have everything else in my life. Or maybe I'm scared that I actually succeed and everyone sees me. And then who do I trust? Who could ever really see the real ME? That sweet, innocent, naive boy who just wanted to be some girl's amazing boyfriend and husband and make her breakfast in bed in the morning? Who could I trust to actually see me after that? Instead of just "ooo a hot guy"?
I don't know what I was to you. A pity case. Just a friend from an unusual site. A potential play partner. A hot guy. A cute young guy. A boy that you could nurture and be maternal to.
I'm not even sure if I know what one I want from you. I just always wanted to be some lovely lady's special boy. I wanted to important to someone. I thought I was important to Powell. I thought I was special to her. And I wasn't. And she left and just forgot me.
I'm scared you'll do the same. I guess I'm scared that I'm nothing to you and I never will be. Even though there's no reason or any indication that I could ever even be special or important to you. How could I? I'm just me. And I'm not a boy anymore. But you call me a boy, even though I'm a man. And it just feels like lightning. I know I can never have what I really want with you. It's been tainted and tied to sexual and romantic feelings in me. But my intentions are pure, believe me of that. And I could see so much more than just that. I could see someone I share a similar past and feelings with and someone who was once a lost little girl and become a stern young woman who guides young men along.
I'll never understand you. But I wish I could.
I never wanted sex. I never wanted anything from you. When we first met I can admit that I creeped your profile and had my hopes...but then you looked at me. And your eyes are nothing but bright and every word that came from you is nothing short of soft and sweet. Sometimes you say the harshest things but they need to be said. And you looked at me like you really saw ME. I don't know if you really did.
I don't know what you wanted from me.
Sometimes you scare me because you're so confident just sexually and in everything and I'm just not.
I wish I had the courage to send this letter and the other.
Maybe one day.
I can just tell you everything in person.
Maybe one day I can tell you.
I miss you.
the brightest sun. And I am just a small comet caught in that alluring and beautiful pull that could never be escaped.
I am still a boy in so many ways. I often wonder at what age you become a man. Is it when you first have sex? Is it when you do something spectacular? I must be a long way off if either of those are true.
What life lived that I've written these letters with the knowledge that I'll likely die having never showed them to you. With you never knowing the impact made by falling stars in eyes so bright.
The same as Alysa. The same as Powell. The words never spoken are so often the loudest and most resonant throughout time.
But such is life. I once did the same with Mrs. Powell many years ago when I was just a boy after she left to England when I was 17. And I never saw her again. And still the letters I wrote to her over all those years into my twenties fill my drafts box and the space between my thoughts like some long forgot ships endlessly trotting through the waves searching for a beach of peaceful tranquility that will never be found. Sometimes I wonder if I just replaced one mother-figure for another. How special I thought I was to her. How important I thought I was to her.
And like her...I fell in love with you.
Something I'd often considered telling you time and time again. Like it would make a difference to anything. Not that I'd want it to. I know you were happy before I ever entered into your life. And I know you're happy with the way things are and were. I know that I was just some random young man who walked into your life. Though, to be fair, you were the one who walked into mine.
A young man, lost and alone in a new city on the edge of the country suddenly accosted by a dashing, charming, beautiful young woman? How could he ever develop any sort of interest in her?
I know I'm just some young man to you. A boy. And I'd never be more than that. I'd never want to ruin what you have with your man. It seems so rare and so beautiful. I'll never understand you, the same way you'll never understand me. I'll never understand how you spend time with young men and enjoy their company while at the same time seeing them as boys. I'll never understand what you wanted with me. I hope it really was just for friends. Or was it for something more, a fun partner perhaps? Or perhaps even more than that?
I'll never understand how older women look at boys like me and desire the fun out of them instead of actually wanting to know them and care about them. And I'll never be able to stop questioning your true intentions and wonder about whether I can trust you.
But you'll have to forgive me, I've been hurt a lot in my past. Not just by older women I thought were so safe and nurturing like you. But by everyone. I'm scared to let anyone in again.
You have no idea what it was like only hearing from your peers how ugly you are. Girls calling you grease for your acne. Other boys telling you if you haven't killed yourself before 40 you'd end up a virgin in your 40s. Getting beat up.
That's another reason I'd never be able to be with you: You were having sex with boyfriends at that point and a part of me would always be jealous and envious even though I have no right to be. Knowing that I waited because when I was a boy so alone and needed someone the most I thought it would be so romantic to wait for the woman who loves me and actually wants me and would love that I waited for her.
Maybe I'm permanently broken because of it all. I don't know. I just know I felt a shared past with you. A darker past that broke me and forced me back into the light.
I know I want to know more about you.
I want to ask you about all of your photos from when you were my age and talk about how incredible it would've been to have known you back then but how lucky I am to even know you at all now.
How lucky I'd be if you ever did reveal to me that the reason you walked into my life like you did is because...you did get a crush on me. The way I have a massive one on you.
Life has changed so much here recently and now after turning my life around thanks to the things you taught me, I've gotten back to my roots. Back to the things that made me so happy as a boy. My music, my singing.
My EP is taking me a long time but I've played a couple venues and I got approached by a talent agent who wants me for my vocal skills but also for modelling.
I'm not sure how I feel about that. I know you once called me attractive but I don't really feel it and I'm far from beautiful. I was always told how ugly I was. It's hard for me to believe anything else and now I'm SO scared. I don't even know what I'm scared about. Maybe that I fail at this too the way I have everything else in my life. Or maybe I'm scared that I actually succeed and everyone sees me. And then who do I trust? Who could ever really see the real ME? That sweet, innocent, naive boy who just wanted to be some girl's amazing boyfriend and husband and make her breakfast in bed in the morning? Who could I trust to actually see me after that? Instead of just "ooo a hot guy"?
I don't know what I was to you. A pity case. Just a friend from an unusual site. A potential play partner. A hot guy. A cute young guy. A boy that you could nurture and be maternal to.
I'm not even sure if I know what one I want from you. I just always wanted to be some lovely lady's special boy. I wanted to important to someone. I thought I was important to Powell. I thought I was special to her. And I wasn't. And she left and just forgot me.
I'm scared you'll do the same. I guess I'm scared that I'm nothing to you and I never will be. Even though there's no reason or any indication that I could ever even be special or important to you. How could I? I'm just me. And I'm not a boy anymore. But you call me a boy, even though I'm a man. And it just feels like lightning. I know I can never have what I really want with you. It's been tainted and tied to sexual and romantic feelings in me. But my intentions are pure, believe me of that. And I could see so much more than just that. I could see someone I share a similar past and feelings with and someone who was once a lost little girl and become a stern young woman who guides young men along.
I'll never understand you. But I wish I could.
I never wanted sex. I never wanted anything from you. When we first met I can admit that I creeped your profile and had my hopes...but then you looked at me. And your eyes are nothing but bright and every word that came from you is nothing short of soft and sweet. Sometimes you say the harshest things but they need to be said. And you looked at me like you really saw ME. I don't know if you really did.
I don't know what you wanted from me.
Sometimes you scare me because you're so confident just sexually and in everything and I'm just not.
I wish I had the courage to send this letter and the other.
Maybe one day.
I can just tell you everything in person.
Maybe one day I can tell you.
I miss you.
26-30, M
