Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

Without You, I’m Not Me

“And I’d give up forever to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me somehow

You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be

And I don’t want to go home right now

And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah, you bleed just to know you’re alive.”

Dear Darling,

Part of me doesn’t have the strength to write. And part of me knows I must. Part of me knows exactly what to say, and how to say it, and part of me hasn’t the faintest clue where to begin. But a true writer writes not because he wants to, but because he has to.

Tonight, I feel…out of place. Out of place in every way. I’m struggling to accomplish success in my academics. I’ve relocated for greater personal independence, which carries with it its own blessings and curses. I’ve departed my political activism for now. And oftentimes, I feel alone even among friends. I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve thought myself outgoing and interesting and humorous enough, but sitting around with some of them, our senses of humor are different, and sometimes they say things that seem totally inappropriate, despite being seemingly stalwart believers.

Suddenly I’m the quiet one. Suddenly I feel like the soldier who never came back from the war, who doesn’t laugh, and whose value and merits lie in my ability to provide security, safety and leadership. I’ve never seen war nor service, yet I feel like the military man returned from both and finding himself ill-fit for a society at peace, gamely sitting about entertaining themselves with trifling shows and amusements, when so much bad has happened, and is happening, and must be fixed. I don’t know if I can’t relax, or if I could hardly be expected to in the company I’ve kept.

And I wonder again, how is it people find each other so easily? The few rare times I’ve thought I spied your eyes looking at me through the crowd, the young lady proved not to be you. And that’s hard.

I cling to the cross, and Christ comes first in all I do. Or at least, that is my goal. And it seems so often that the ladies I meet, who seem interesting, have fallen away from that faith, and leave me hoping only that they can reclaim that faith.

I could use finding people just like me, people who affirm me, maybe are impressed by me, and by whom I can be impressed.

But most of all, I miss you. As much as I’ve already done with my life, as much as I still plan to do, I still feel like there’s not much of a point to my life unless I find you. Some say that’s silly, that my identity can’t be wrapped up in finding someone else. But there are enough songs, stories and poems, and the witness of many lonely hearts, to tell me I’m not alone in that sentiment.

I cook for myself, but there’s just not much of a point in going to so much effort if it’s only me. I’m not sloppy, I’ll keep my territory clean, but part of me wonders what’s the point besides keeping an orderly room and hoping my brain will follow.

So I’m sitting here tonight, alone in the dark. There’s a candle flickering, off a new volume of Love Poems and Sonnets of William Shakespeare that I haven’t even had time to read yet, but which I’ve purchased to arm myself with for our future.

What do you need from me, right now, this moment? I wish I knew! I wish, by virtue of some dream or vision I might see the troubles you’re facing, the daunting threats and challenges which impair your climb and take away your smile. Would that I could be concealed behind the veil, lurking, hidden and unseen behind the curtains of your life, unnoticed and uncredited, to make your life easier.

Would that I could take you in my arms and kiss away your tears. Because you see, when I’m holding you, you’re really holding me.

I’m filled with a painful hope to think every single “remember when” is still in our future; a treasure box brimming over with reflection, a heart and a lifetime full of memories, ours to make, like hidden gems concealed within the folds of our timeline.

Time is linear, but we are not. We are made up of the memories of our pasts, the joys and pains of our present, and the hope for our future. It’s strange to realize you’re going to be such an integral part of my life — my whole world — and I don’t even know what you look like.

I’m wearily holding to the hope that we’ll get there ere we make many more trips around the sun, awaiting the day when we can sit together in the candlelight.

Until then. I love you, and remain your lonely knight,


“And I don’t want the world to see me
Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am.”

March 31, 2013 Posted by | Loneliness | Leave a comment