Sincerely Yours (Limerence)

A man's letter to an old friend he had lost because he had fallen in love with her

Before I apologize, I need to say this: I though I loved you, and I mean love in the romantic sense. The love you see in movies and books where the male protagonist seems willing to do anything for his love interest and where unrequited love transfigures to one of reciprocity after the male protagonists showcases how kind and brave he is.  It is the type of love that I felt was the hegemony of all types of love. A love that was predicated more on reciprocity than selflessness because I did not want you happy unless you were with me. 

            Even this love, as tremulous as it was, was based on an offhand comment whose veracity is questionable.  When someone told me you like me, I felt a burst of euphoria and it was not because of you. I was elated because I had the potential to be in a relationship. I was desperate to be in a relationship. I wanted to be in love and I wanted to know what it felt like.  I wanted to know why everyone from Shakespeare to Celine Dion regarded it so highly. I saw you as a door to another world where someone -who is not blood related- that cares about your welfare, where you are, your state of mind (are you okay? Do you feel better? your health (are you sick? I have some aspirin in my purse. , etc. As much as men say they abhor intrusive women, I believe deep down, in the corners of their heart, they desire it. We all want to feel wanted. We all wanted to feel cherished. The want and care is what we base this silly conceit we call “young love” . I wanted to convey that to you and you to me.  That is why solely based on a offhand remark I pursued you with the sheer tenacity of police dog chasing a recalcitrant teenager.

            Before any of this you were an acquaintance to me, almost a friend. You were someone who I would vent my frustrations to, complain about trivial grievances such as the lack of peaches in the cafeteria, and discuss esoteric such as “split infinitives” and “sweeping”.  Our relationship consisted of cross complaining with the obligatory words of encouragement when we had exams. I will admit your appearances did brighten my morning. I would feel a bit down if I did not see you that day and perhaps our relationship is growing. However, I never imagined myself become intensely infatuated with you to the point of veneration.

            Your indignant complaints became divine soliloquys and your screeching voice became an angelic voice that emanates from the heavens.  Everything you did was perfect. In my eyes, you were never wrong, never awkward, never clumsy always right, socially competent, and elegant. I paid attention to everything you did no matter how trivial whether it be clipping your nails or twirling your hair.  You soon started to seep into my mind. I start to have obsessive thoughts about you doing the most banal things everyday. My happiness was contingent on you. Whenever you did not reply to a text, I became sullen and when you misunderstood my hackneyed jokes I was ashamed. I became sensitive to every kind you did for me and misconstrued them as a sign of hidden passions you had for me.

            My infatuation became an obsession. I soon wanted to be near at least part of day. I would obsess about catching you next time if I felt we did not depart on good terms. If I could not be near you, I wanted to at least know where you would be. The obsession reached a point where I would become insanely jealous when you talked to another guy no matter how innocuous the conversation was. I became  the domineering boyfriend who wanted you all to himself. That is why I would walk with you to class when I had no class myself,  that is why I started to bring you coffee in the morning, and why I could constantly ask whether you did well on exam. 

            When you said no, I felt overwhelmed by trite and clichéd metaphors such as my heart was torn, you stabbed me in the heart, and you knocked the wind right out of me. I know you did not mean to act maliciously. You said I’m sorry after you said no.  I know you simply did not feel the same way but I had to use every ounce of strength to fight the urge to call you a “heinous b***h”. I wanted you to reciprocate,  I wanted you to feel the way. I imagined us meeting on the campus lawn, wet with rain, confessing our love for one another.  It was a hard truth that I did not want to sallow, that you did not feel the same way. I soon became a person I once loathed. I became a person who only cultivated a friendship in order to be in a relationship. I became person who constantly complains about being friendzoned, a sophomoric term that belittles the beauty and benefits of friendship.  I became a man who was not satisfied with the current relationship with someone because he simply desired to be in a relationship I became a man who was willing to throw away a growing relationship away because he could not get a cheap, ephemeral thrill.  I became a man would rather cut someone of than deal with the sting of rejection. I became an idiot, a loser, a selfish pretentious prick who is no greater than a philanderer.

            Finally, I want to apologize. I did not intend to hurt you or belittle our friendship.  I did not originally see it as a stepping-stone for something more. Through it all, I learned how much our friendship truly meant to me. I enjoyed your company and I have come to learn you are a kind, intelligent, and often-awkward young lady. Even though our conversations consisted of cross complaining, I appreciate the fact that you listened to me and I enjoyed our conversations a great deal. I also learned that if I really loved you, I would find joy when you found someone else because Love possesses not nor would it be possessed; For love is sufficient unto love. When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God."  I hope we can remain amicable and I did not write this e-mail in order to rekindle our friendship.  I will be content with a simple hi.

 

Sincerely yours,