To the Guy Who Just Moved to Williamsburg
I had thought about waiting for your anger to dissipate before I write to you, but I do not wish to torment you, or me, with my silence — I’m sorry.
I am certainly not impervious to lousy judgment nor to making terrible decisions — making you think that I had an agenda other than dating you was an awful mix of both. It felt horrible and I regret it deeply.
The truth is, the polarizing pull of the unfettered emotions I felt for and from you, all in one night, had stirred up both my passions and fears. It must have stoked some of yours, too. Thoughts of falling madly in love with a guy from Williamsburg — clearly not a matter of logistics — came to me with each kiss you planted on my forehead. I especially appreciate your persistent desire to know me, and I you, whether by your gestures or through your best friends.
But I was beautifully broken by all of that. I wanted you, and at the same time, I dread at the thought of having you.
The tentativeness between us told me that we are still trapped in this paradox that love has put us: endlessly searching for love, to have it without really having it, and therefore not having to really lose it; but it is no worse than going on dates in anticipation of a tragic breakup.
So, a girl could fall madly in love with you — your kindness, spontaneity, and affectionate nature weave an image of a man whom I’ve been waiting to hold, to kiss, to fall in love with, but who I almost intentionally push away.
I’m hoping that you’d at least return to where you were before you met me, or that by doing this, I’d return to who I was on the night I met you.
Love, that Girl from Astoria & Long Island
