Valentines is coming and I have things to say. Important things that are lodged in my heart, crying out to be heard.
I miss his joking and laughter.
So why wait? I can disguise my need to speak with Valentine’s, my cunning mind decides.
Using “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus’ chapter 10 on love letters, I begin
I tell him how angry and sorry I am for my recent behaviour. I tell him how scared I am to lose him.
And then, I tell him everything I love about him. I pour my heart into my words with the sole purpose of showing my appreciation and love of who he is and my gratitude for all he has done. And, I acknowledge his situation and end with a promise that I understand and I will wait.
I then faff about with a heart background and send it in an email.
I have no idea how often he checks his account, but I figure in the next week or two he will find it. I vow not to mention it until Valentine’s Day, either way.
Five minutes later he calls: he’s on his nightly walk.
Except…he asks about the letter. I laugh and tell him i didnt exoect him to find it and that it was for Valentine’s Day. For a moment he questions me panic stricken, until i reasure his its not for another 9 days.
I change the topic and gabble on about my day, but at thw first opportunity he asks me to read it to him as he comments it is long and he doesn’t think he will understand it. I tell him that he could translate it easy enough but I do tell him it contains apologies, thanks and lots of love.
He’s quiet for the rest of the walk, but then, that’s how he’s been the last week or so. I silently pray that when he finally reads the letter, things will change. I realise he is probably wondering about it.
The latter part of the walk is silent, bar the noise of the street and his occasional cough. I’ve ran out of things to say and he is just quiet.
Once in the house, he turns on the camera and sits to drink tea with his parents.
But first, he starts to read the letter. Aloud.
“Stop stop stop!! No no no, don’t read it out!!”
“Why?”
“Because it’s everything in my heart.”
But instead he continues, commenting first on its two page length with a glimmer in his eye, and starts to read it in funny voices, thus hiding its content from his parents who barely understand English anyway.
And I laugh as he reads, covering my blushes with my hands and my t shirt. I relish in his happiness and his humour again.
He pauses at various parts to comment, and even tells his mum what he is reading.
“Well that’s not right, you didn’t hurt me. I hurt you.”
And although I continue to laugh, inside my mind race’s. Is that what he thinks? The book talks about how, when a woman explains her feelings, men immediately see that as a failure on their part – that they’ve done something wrong. Is that why he’s been quiet? Not because I hurt him, but because he feels like he hurt me? Failed me?
I don’t know how much of the letter he understood. Probably less than half, with reading it in a funny voice, my laughter and his parents questions. But all I know is, he was happy he got the letter regardless, happy that I had written so much and for that time, he was himself. He came back to me.
Knowing him, he has read it again since. I hope he has.
I need his love and laughter back.