A Letter to The One

I love you.
But do you exist?
There’re many moments in my life where I thought I have found you: when I saw the deep love in the universe of your eyes which held me, when I saw your smile that spoke of the gentlest care for me, when I saw you getting nervous when you worried about me, when I heard you say “I love you” for the first time in my life.
I trust you. I long for you.
But my belief in your existence shaken.
I saw you in him, him, and him, only to be disappointed that he is not you.
I tried. I thought that maybe if I do this and do that, he’ll finally become you — my eternal love who I’m meant to be with, and we’ll be happily ever after. But no one’s ever totally you. He looked at me like you would for a minute, a stranger for the next; he took care of me like you would for a moment, a stranger for another day; he walked with me on the beach like you would for a night, a stranger the next morning. I’ve never had a a full taste of what it’s like to be with just the amazing, wonderful and perfect you — my light and my hero.
I encountered him and him and him — some are loving, some are interesting, some are intriguing, but they’re not you — the one who I truly belong to. So I tried and tried. I kept learning. I kept improving. I tried being more attractive : maybe I haven’t loved myself enough, maybe I haven’t been confident enough, maybe I haven’t been happy enough. But you did not appear, no matter how hard I tried.
I hate you. I wanted to give up the idea of your existence.
But my heart said no, so I kept waiting and seeking.
Baby, listen. I don’t care who you are and where you are. You have been in my heart and I have been waiting for you. But that does not give you, even just the idea of you, a special permission to hurt me. I’m sure you are loving, kind, intelligent, and as weird as I am. But I also know you’re not a perfect ideal that will never frustrate me. You are, after all, just another human, and just like other people who broke my heart — a clumsy jerk who will make me angry and upset and disappointed nonetheless.
Honey, listen some more. I am so f*cking enough and possibly too much goodness for you. I don’t care how many weaknesses I still have and how many more space for me to improve as a human, as a daughter, as a friend, as a lover, as a being, I am enough as I am right now and as I continue to grow and glow. I am full and complete as much as I am flawed and crooked. Take that. And I am not going to doubt a single part of myself — physical appearance, intelligence, heart capacity or my personality and character just because I desire so much to be with you.
I love you.
But it shouldn’t overtake I love me, my life, and my world.
I don’t hate you. I hate that my longing for you makes me feel less of a woman. But I see it now, after much bitterness, jealousy and anger I felt from the suffering of not being able to be with you. It’s not you, it is me. It’s not you who decided I’m enough. It’s not you, not her, not him, not them. It’s me. I’m the only who can and will decide if I’m enough — if I’m beautiful, if I’m attractive, if I’m good, if I’m successful.
I see it now.
But it’s always me.
You — who I sometimes see in him, when he looked at me with his eyes that held a mesmerizing universe, that held me, is me.
You — who I’ve been looking for, waiting for, longing for, is me.
In all the search for love and perfect soulmate all these years and everywhere, I am looking for no one else but myself.
I am the one who I should love and I am the one who decide who you are, and who I am.
