A Letter to Love
Originally written in 2019, revised many times.
Dear Reader,
I first wrote a version of this letter back in 2019 as part of a project with With/out Pretend, and read it onstage to a sold-out crowd. I then wrote a version in 2022 (around there) which now lives inside my book Recipes for Overthinking. Now, in 2025, I thought it was fitting to follow up.
Dear you,
It’s been so nice getting to know you, and I’m reluctant to admit that ‘they’ were right. Who are ‘they,’ anyway? You did appear when I least expected it, when it wasn’t that it was hard to see you, it just wasn’t as dramatic as I thought. In the best way possible, I promise.
I thought I wouldn’t recognize you, that I would take the ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs?’ and hold them close to me forever. I always thought that the confusion and questioning were part of it all. But I was wrong.
It wasn’t so much of a fall, really. It was more of a sinking. Actually, it was exactly like this. Have you ever watched a coin after you’ve tossed it into a fountain? It doesn’t fall straight to the bottom, but it flips and slopes as it drifts down until it settles. Like sinking into a warm bath full of bubbles, or a cozy fantasy book when you want to turn the world off.
It’s hard to recognize something you’ve never felt before. Hard to decide between what the truth is and what you want the truth to be. And now I know, when it is you, it’s easy to spot. But I also know, not that long ago, I rolled my eyes at anyone who even began to utter words like that.
You are right though, in that you’ve been here all the long - just not in the ways I was craving most. And I don’t want you to think I was ignoring you appearing in other ways too, Love.
I was so intent on molding you to fit what I think you should be. Held together by my Hollywood-born expectations and a head that resides in the clouds while my mind tries to drag my feet back down to the ground. Gravity and reality were two things my heart has yet to learn (and sometimes, there’s still a lesson or two). I was exhausted from trying to prove myself to those already looking past me.
From being overlooked again and again because I was not “something” enough. But one thing I’ve gotten better at, as you made your way to me, was recognizing what I deserve.
So this isn’t a love letter, is it? It’s a letter to love, a thank you note of sorts.
Overthinking can be a dangerous thing. And overthinking while lowering exceptions to be met by twisting perceptions can be lethal. But you knew that, and you were waiting for me to realize that when it was right, there wouldn’t be a thing to overthink.
I used to think my expectations were too high, and now I’m ensured that’s never the case.
You let me take this time to realize what makes me feel full, and I am grateful. Today, I know where you are. I know who you are.
Dear you.
Love.
I was wrapped up in the idea of you, my brain constantly tossing through the motion of what you will feel like unconditionally one day. And that blinded me. Distracted me. Had me pouring over words in books and scenes in movies that I'm aching to relate to.
Now the silliest of love songs can play and he pops in my head, eyebrows raised and head shaking.
I see that you are glasses of water in the middle of the night, and earplugs during (extremely loud, sometimes scary) concerts. You are road trips in the fall on twisty roads, and bowls of mixed cereal. Steady hands when the path is icy and postcards from Paris.
There were whispers from others of things being too fast, a caution to slow. But what they don’t see is how it’s not that fast when you’ve been looking a long time.
I waited, and I’ll never stop seeing you.
Sincerely yours,
Me.
