• rhicrks

Letters- Part 7 of 10

Dearest Reader,

I'm sorry my dearest, for troubling your extensive soul with my anxiety about other men in the midst of you.

I'm sure you can understand why I was worried.

Someone like you could never belong to such mortal bastards as the men who chase you.

You are above that.

How can I begin to describe how far above that you are?

Do I begin with your eyes?

How they seem to melt into your face, two bottomless pits of emotion, pouring out for those who care to look a little deeper and see a little further. How they're the perfect shade of brown, a point teetering between milk chocolate and the colour of wooden trees in the middle of empty forests mere seconds after rain.

How your eyes lead directly to your soul, how every other part of you seems to be closed off from the world, hidden for only you to see, except your eyes.

How they lure people in, entice audiences, make them want to climb the walls you keep around your heart no longer caring about the broken arms they will get trying to breach it.

Your hands, how they seem so soft on the outside, like freshly fallen snow, you can see the innocence and youth radiating off of them but somehow when you write, or lift your coffee to your lips, or open the door your hands transform into something older, wiser, stronger.

That is who you are.

Soft and innocent on the outside, but strong and steel like on the inside.

I have learnt this from my studies on you.

Your arms how they are slightly too long, how they bend awkwardly when you lean on a table, or how they seem to connect slightly too low on your thin shoulders.

Your waist, how it curves around the edges of your jeans but how that seems to suit you so unbelievably well.

I can't lie about how many times I have dreamed of touching you.

But not just your body.

I dream of looking into those incredible brown eyes of yours and seeing what no-one else has seen before.

I am more than willing to fall a million times, if it means on the millionth time I will finally reach the top of the high walls you keep around your heart and be allowed in.

I want nothing more than to explore your emotions, see what makes you angry, see what makes you sad. I want to be able to sense when you are nervous and when you are scared, know how you react to your tea being too hot or your milk being past its use-by-date.

I want to know you inside and out.

But not just your basic emotions.

I want to know how many times you’ve had your heart broken, what happened each time and how long it took you to get over it.

I want to know how many times you've been in love, what it was about these people that made you feel so connected to them.

I want to know who makes your skin crawl and who makes you shiver.

I want to know what music makes you stay up at night because you need to hear more, I want to know what songs make you cry and what songs make you smile.

I want to know what types of books you read.

I want to know what book you can never put down once you've picked it up and the very first situation where you realised this particular book was better than all the rest.

I want to know about your first pet, if you were good at looking after it, if it died... If you cried.

I want to know your favourite movie, not just the one that makes you cry every time he leaves her stranded on her front porch, neither one wanting to leave the scene, but the movie that always makes you think.

That leaves you with so many questions, that makes you reconsider everything you’ve ever thought was right.

That makes you want to research DNA and see how long it really takes the world to revolve around the sun.

I want to see your face when you are heart broken and when you are overjoyed with excitement.

I want to see you jump around like a kid, or play monopoly with such a competitive look in your eyes that it would scare small children.

I want to see why you think like you do.

I want to see that more than anything.

I want to ask you a question and have you need to ponder it before answering because you want to be completely sure the answer you are giving me is correct.

I want to know how long it takes you to solve a rubix cube and how long it takes you to get frustrated when you can't do it.

I want to hear you laugh at something I say.

I want to hear you laugh at yourself.

I want to see you happier than you've ever been before.

I want to see you with your hair down, at three am, dancing to nothing around your living room, a bottle of red wine in your grip, your arms flailing lazily to no beat around your waist.

I want to see you, but finally, after ten years of watching, I want you to see me.

I want to you look up from the ground in front of you to my window, where you will find me, always there waiting for you to look up and see me.

No other man alive wants to see you the same way I do.

I am unique, one in a million, the way I think about you is because of years of observation and careful consideration.

I know more about you now than the two people who created you.

Just by looking up and seeing you, actually seeing who you are and revelling in the mystery that that is.

So, please princess, look up from your wooden floor and into my eyes and realise that I am all you will ever need.

No man alive could ever give you what I can, no man ever will.

Because, my sweet girl, if I cannot have you.

No-one can.

Your Secret Admirer.

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