A Woman’s Letter

My Dearest Mr. E,

Every time we talk, I’m left with an aching feeling that I can neither explain nor rid myself of. I’m not sure if it’s a stomach ache or a heart ache, but it leaves me feeling empty and a little anxious. It leaves me wishing I could take action to change things… but I don’t know what I’d change if I could. It leaves me feeling frustrated… but I’m not sure with whom or for what reason.

Mr. E, you blew me away the first night I met you, and I haven’t really found my feet since. I do fine most of the time, when you are but a thought that crosses my mind from time to time. But when you resurface and say something as simple as “you are all that is woman” to me, you send my mind on a journey once again, fantasizing about everything that could be. I have spent very little time with you, and maybe I am fooling myself to think that I understand you and the things you need in life, but I feel like I
know you as well as I know myself. You are my male counterpart, as opposite from me as a man is supposed to be from a woman. But not just any woman. A woman like me. Again, maybe I’m fooling myself, but I think you understand what I mean.

I suppose it’s human nature to seek out an ideal and compare all things to it. An ideal partner, an ideal life, an ideal image of oneself even. In my eyes, you are an ideal man. You have not pursued me except to reach out for brief, albeit intense, reunions occasionally. You have not led me to believe that you will someday either. And I respect you for that. You are someone who follows through on promises, so you don’t make promises that you don’t plan on keeping. But despite the valley between us, there seems to be an understanding. I suppose it’s mutual respect and maybe a recognition of a kindred spirit. Whatever it is, it has garnered you a special place in my life and in my heart. While sometimes I wish I had so much more from you, I love the ache you leave me with when you touch down into my life. I love it and I hate it. It reminds me that I’m capable of experiencing an emotion intensely enough to feel it physically. I won’t name the emotion. I couldn’t if I tried. But it reminds me that I’m a warm-blooded woman, who aches for a man she may never have. It’s as primal as my need to eat, drink, and breathe. You, Mr. E, are as timeless as the emotion itself. I’m glad you walked into my life all those years ago, impeccably dressed, with your broad shoulders towering over me. I’m glad you showed me what it’s like to feel vulnerable, feminine…. and content to be left aching.

Damn you. Go off and fight your war. I understand that you need to. I’ll be thinking about you.

Woman

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