Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

What If It’s Me?

“Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses? 
You been out ridin’ fences for so long now 
Oh, you’re a hard one 
I know that you got your reasons 
These things that are pleasin’ you 
Can hurt you somehow 

Now it seems to me, some fine things 
Have been laid upon your table 
But you only want the ones that you can’t get…”

Dear Darling,

Maybe I am too picky. Maybe I am stubborn and walled off. In all honesty, some very fine options have presented themselves. Things that should fit the description of what I said I was looking for. Some very fine options exist which do not fit everything I seek, and yet they are very fine indeed.

But I can’t change the way I feel. I told you before, I have tried to ignore, suppress and silence passion, sentiment, emotion. They do not serve me well. Here, passion must be allowed her say. The horse will not pursue that trail unless given her head, just a little.

What makes feeling, and is it my fault for not having it? I know of a few young ladies who should rival the very things I claim to seek. And the feeling I am letting them down or denying them the happiness when it is within my power to grant it bows my spirit low sometimes:

She: “I don’t understand. You are all that I seek.”
He: “But you are not all that I seek.”
She: “What do you seek, then?”
He: “Lady, I know not. I know nothing of love. I know only when it is not.”

To have within my grasp the rise or fall of a woman’s happiness is a grave burden indeed; one feels selfish to deny it for the sake of one’s own happiness.

But I can’t change the way I feel. And have I not the right to choose for my own happiness as well? Have I no right to be selfish? I don’t feel with them; and my happiness counts too. Sometimes I think I should feel. Sometimes I wonder if it’s me, and if I should discard these most inconvenient of sentiments and simply pursue a prudent match, trusting to the notion of elder days that love will come in time.

Lurking in my mind, huddled in the corner is the question I dare not ask: What if it’s me? What if I am my own enemy?

I know I can make someone very happy. But I too seek happiness. Shall I be denied this final hope for the sake of others?

How does one create feelings that don’t exist? Yet how long does one chase the sunrise before growing up?

What if it’s me? What if it isn’t? And what if I never have the chance to answer these questions?

God only knows.

Love always,
Beren

“Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses? 
Come down from your fences, open the gate 
It may be rainin’, but there’s a rainbow above you 
You better let somebody love you, before it’s too late.”

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August 17, 2012 - Posted by | Loneliness

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