Love Defined (Part 2)

This is the second part of Love Defined. It includes three letters instead of just one, so I've labeled them to make it easier! 

From him to her:

They always told me I was an idiot. I believe them now. Two years haven’t softened the blow of how true those words are. 

They said I shouldn’t respond, but I couldn’t leave your letter alone. 

Just like I couldn’t tell you the day I had to leave. And I couldn’t tell you the reason why. Just like I couldn’t bear to tell you I was at your graduation. Or that I haven’t been in Australia for the last year and a half. I’ve been two states away. 

I couldn’t bear to tell you. Even now the words are sticking in my chest. Because I still love you. And I know what love is. 

Love is you not minding when I had other friends. 

Love was you always texting me good morning. 

Love was you making me smile when no one else ever could. 

Love was you staying up until midnight to talk when you really needed to sleep. 

Love was you getting out of bed every morning when you didn’t feel like it just to spend time with me. 

Love was you helping me with homework. 

Love was you never getting upset when I had to leave to spend time with my siblings. 

Love was you caring for me for two years when I never even contacted you. 

And I’d like to say it was love that kept me from writing you back. But I can’t. It was fear. 

That last time we were together you said there was no fear in love. But there is. 

There was fear as I drove away for the last time, and a car crashed into me. 

There was fear as I woke up in the hospital room, completely disorientated.

There was fear as I realized I couldn’t see anymore. Or when they told me I might not ever be able to see again. 

There was fear as I got on a plane with my sister, bound for a hospital in Australia. 

There was fear for six months as they tried to restore my sight. 

But the most fear I’ve ever felt is when they told me they couldn’t help anymore. That I was blind for good. 

And I’ve spent almost two years trying to come to grips with it. But there’s so much I can’t do. 

I can’t drive or paint anymore. I can’t watch the stars or write you letters. I can’t take care of anyone. Which means I can’t take care of you. 

When I came to the hospital, I wanted to call you. I wanted to tell you what happened. 

They told me I would be stupid to drag you back into the relationship with someone who couldn’t see. They told me I should just leave you out of it. 

And I believed them. After those first few weeks, I couldn’t imagine bringing you into my mess. I couldn’t walk without banging into things. I couldn’t feed myself without making a mess. I couldn’t do anything I should be able to do. 

I was so afraid, I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I had been crushed. I had so many plans for our future. 

I had planned for us to be married, now that we’re both eighteen. I planned for us to have a small house with a pool for you to enjoy. I had planned on us going to church at the little chapel on second street, which had the best pastor and people who cared. I planned on getting you away from your parents and starting a life of our own. 

Now I can’t take care of you, and you deserve so much more than I can give. 

I always meant to come back. But how can I? They told me I would hold you down. That I would make it worse. And I believed them. 

I’m sorry I did.

I’m sorry for walking out on you when you needed me. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry I left you alone with your parents. I’m sorry I never had the courage to tell you what happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. I’m sorry you had to be alone. I’m sorry we both had to be alone. 

I’ve been an idiot, and I know what that means. 

I walked out on the one person who cared most for me. I stayed away from the one person who understood what I was going through. I denied you the ability to help me. I denied myself comfort. Being an idiot is not talking to someone for two years because it feels easier than confessing. 

I’m a coward and I know it. 

I’m not even brave enough to come tell you in person. I’m not brave enough to let you see me, and not be able to see you back. I’m a coward. I won’t even ask my sister to drive me the six hours to your house. 

I know I’m a coward, and an idiot, and a lot of other things. 

But I’m also in love with you. Two years haven’t changed that. 

If you get a call at three AM, you’ll know who it’s from. 

 

From her to him:

They told me you’d never write back. I guess they were wrong. They said you’d probably just wanted to dump me. I’m glad to know they were wrong about that. 

I want to be mad at you. I really do. 

The anger is welling inside of me. You had no right to close me out. 

Love sticks with someone even with it’s tough. Love doesn’t just leave. Love does the hard thing. 

And I hoped you knew I was willing to do what you did for me all those years. You stuck with me, even when life wasn’t easy. You held me when I needed it. 

I wish you had realized that I wanted to be there for you. 

But as much as I want to be mad at you, I can’t. 

I know right where you’re coming from. 

And I know how much bravery it took to tell me after two years. 

So thank you. 

Thank you for telling me. 

I’ve been sitting at the computer, trying to figure out how to tell you that I think we can still be together. 

I think you can still care for me, and I’ll care for you. 

I think we can make up for the two years apart. 

I think we can manage. 

So please come to me. Or let me come to you. We’d made a perfect team, you and I. Just like we used to.  

Don’t just shove me away because you're scared. 

Don’t just leave me here all alone. 

Don’t let your pride get in the way of our love. 

Don’t let yourself believe you are any less for this. 

I don’t love you any less for this. 

Please don’t leave me here without you any longer. 

So call me. Find me. We’ll work this out. 

I love you. 

From him to her:

They told me you’d never come. I guess they were wrong. Because even though I couldn’t see you, I never felt so aware of your presence. A part of me seemed crushed by the weight of that love. 

That love that drove six hours just to see me. 

That love that ran to meet me, even when I couldn’t see where you were. 

That love that forgave me, and held me. 

That love that stayed up until midnight talking with me. 

That love that cried with me over the lost years. 

That love that said we could try again. 

I don’t know how you could love me like that. But I love you for it.