LOVER
My Lover,
I’ve always been mad with love. Even when I was a prepubescent child with only the faintest idea of what a relationship would possibly entail, I knew that a lover was calling for me. The echoes of a divine messenger warning me to love reverberated from every person I’ve known. I’ve heeded that duty like no other, given everything in me to respond to every fading call.
I’ve suffered the tear drenched ache of unrequited love, as we all have, but wasn’t every tear a proclamation? Weren’t my cries just me screaming to the heavenly host that I was so full of tender affection that the refusal of a vessel for said affection akin to torture? Perhaps every distant partner was the host responding that I was indiscriminately giving my affection to drains and vessels alike. Maybe I even looked for drains as a form of release, unaware that while my feelings have no end my willingness to pour them down the drain does.
All this to say I now have a perfect vessel in you, my lover. I adore every atom of your being, I would merge my being with yours were it possible to do so, even at risk of destroying the known universe. Does anything in the known universe matter aside from us being together? The answer, honestly, naturally, is not even a bit.
I wish I could live inside of your skin, polish my teeth on your bones. The closest I get to this is nibbling on the flesh of your wrist, licking your skin, biting your neck, swallowing your spit. Your mouth on mine, your tongue engulfing my consciousness. The universe is a blank slate but for your ownership of my heart, body, soul. Bite marks litter your body like you were attacked by some rabid beast. Then again you were, weren’t you? And is the blood that pours from myself not the sacrifice of a tamed beast to our shared Adonai?
Your hands on my face is what religion is made of. The way your simple touch in my hair inspires such hysterical devotion from me causes even the bacchae to cringe and back into the shadows. You cradle the back of my head as your body rocks into mine and it’s a supernova of devout intimacy. I press my lips to your face as an act of worship, as a declaration to the host that I’ve found my lover and I’d follow him to the depths of hell as if he were a golden calf come to life in the form of a modern Euridyce. My Adonai Adonis.
So my tears find a vessel in your chest, my cries find a home in your arms. ‘All’s well that ends well to end up with you,’ Lover. This letter is both a vow and a commandment. I vow to always pour my affection into you, and command that you do the same.
Your Lover <3
Hope Nitta, 20, Spokane, WA - USA ✯ IG: @cringewright
“My name is Hope, I’m a 20 year old writer from Spokane, Washington. This is a letter pieced together from late night notes app ravings I’m too scared to show my boyfriend.”