To Pippa, From Em

To Pippa, 

     Look, I understand this might be a bit… out of the ordinary? Yeah, that seems like a good way to put it instead of saying ‘weird’. Cause you know, I don’t wanna say weird, because I don't think it’s that weird (I mean, is it?). Guess you’ll tell me, Pips. 

     Anyways: A letter– handwritten, of all things. Yeah, crazy, crazy times. 

     There’s just something a bit exciting about the prospect of paper and ink. I’ve heard things around the colony about the concept of pen-pals, because it’s such a timeless thing and all. Vintage things have their charm to them right? Oldies but goodies, like some people say. And hey, I think you agree too, because I’ve noticed you have been doing some things for years that you never seem to get tired of. 

     The first example that comes to mind is the way you style your hair. You know, that thing you do to brush it all up, make sure it’s soft when you run your fingers through it. The way it curls up the ends, making it all puffy and bouncy. Kinda makes your hair look like a cloud (that’s a compliment, I promise). Oh, and the flowers you pick as accessories, always fresh, always tucked up right above your right ear. That's some sort of timeless beauty only you can pull off: An oldie but a goodie, and my favorite one.

     Not that you’re old. I promise, swear, and mean it, I am not calling you old.

     I promised myself I wouldn’t cross out any words on this letter, or start it over on this paper. I already have, started over that is, but I don't think that’s fair to you. Letters are two sides of a coin: they can be rehearsed and repeated until the words flow right, but also they’re personal enough that words don’t need to be perfect. They just need to be personal, and that’s all I want to be when I say this to you. 

     I like you. And I have, for a very long time. I’ve tried to say this in person, I promise you I have, but every attempt on doing so has resulted in me choking up and blurting something stupid out in return. Remember that time I was talking about liking the color orange because it reminded me of cheese? Yeah, total bull from being nervous. Cheese is most often yellow anyways, if not a tangy sorta white.

     Ahhh, I wanna stay focused, I really do, but even expressing myself in this romanticized ink and paper is harder than everyone makes it seem. So instead, I wanna talk about how you make me feel, and you can then tell if you feel something back. Or not, I am okay either way. Through spoken word, or through ink and paper. I leave it up to you. 

     Look, Pippa: I like you so, so much. You know I’m not the best at talking to people, but when I’m around you, having a conversation is butter smooth. I don’t need to feel the need to wrap it up early, to be overly polite, or to change the subject. Instead, I can talk with you for hours at a time without ever having the need to stop. In fact, it’s the other way around: Pippa, I could talk with you for hours on end without feeling the need to stop. I could stay with you for three days and three nights, only you and me, talking about anything. Because it’s easy to talk to you, but as easy as it is to talk, it is easy to listen: who wouldn’t want to spend all their time listening to a voice as pretty as yours? To a laugh that sounds like bells? 

     I don’t mean to be sappy. Or maybe I do, because I guess sappy and romantic are two leaves in the same branch, but I mean all of this to say: you mean the entire world to me. I love you, I love spending time with you, and I like you because you are you. And for me, that is enough. 

     I’m attaching a little box to the letter. I hope you read this first before opening it like I told you, because if you did you’d be pretty confused (hey, I would too). Doesn’t matter I guess, what matters is what’s in the darn box to begin with: it’s a camelia. A white carnelia, in fact, though it looks a bit pinkish from the area where it had been growing, and the liquid I used to dry it out. I talked to other people around the colony, and if I’ve done things right, each petal should have been preserved enough not to fall, and dried enough not to wither. This specific type of flower has a specific meaning I almost forgot about, but for me it’s one thing: timeless beauty. Just like you. 

     Meet me at our spot tonight before curfew. I wanna see what you think of all of this, and I promise that whatever it is, I will be here for you. My Pippa. 

     With love,

     Em.