dearomantic

[dearomantic]

i know you can't stop thinking about last night because i can't either. i can't wait to rehearse with you again next thursday. you told me i look like i have a lot of stories to tell. i would love for you to hear them. yesterday we read the scene for the first time and it looked like we were ready for the stage. the director told us that we don't have to kiss at the end if we don't feel like it. i agreed with him at first because the idea of kissing a stranger was quite embarrassing. now, i'm not so sure. talking with you was electrifying. i haven't felt like this in years. the tension. the attraction. the curiosity. how long is a week? at this point, way too much.

i was enchanted to meet you,

rebecca

[dearomantic]

a year ago

today it would be our first anniversary. i never celebrated one. no relationship i had ever lasted this long. neither did this one, i know. i know this isn't our anniversary because we officially broke up nine months ago. but does it matter if we never stopped loving each other? does it matter if we never really left? i don't think so.

a year ago you kissed me on the ferris wheel. we laughed and i told you i liked high spots because they made me see the world in a different way. then you kissed me again. the world has never been the same ever since.

happy anniversary,

fleur

[dearomantic]

mr dupont

good morning. i’m sorry if being in one of those letters makes you uncomfortable. you can’t really be uncomfortable since you’re not really reading these letters. i know I shouldn’t have loved you but i know you loved me too. i know you think about me sometimes. i know you wonder about what am I reading or where am i. i’d want you to tell me that you are proud of me, but that’s on my constant need of approval. and on my daddy issues too. i understood what i meant for you only when i met samir. you would’ve liked him. he’s smart and intense. tastes like honey and glass. like burnt sugar with a little bit of rum. 

everyday, i aspire to become like you. i aspire to become that one teacher that makes you wonder how were you even alive before reading Foscolo’s poetry. 

di vizi ricco e di virtù, do lode alla ragion, ma corro ove al cor piace

juliàn

[dearomantic]

i kissed him last night

i didn’t want you to know that i kissed him last night, but i told you anyway. i couldn’t live with that guilt and so i turned into pain and gave it to you. i am sorry. i am so sorry for the pain this is gonna cause. i am sorry for the insecurities that this is going to give you. you love me more than i ever will. therefore, i am leaving. last night i wasn’t drunk. i wasn’t confused. i don’t even regret it. i wanted to kiss him. i chose to kiss him. even if i knew that it meant loosing you. even if i knew he would never chose me. i tried to be rational, but i can’t. i tried to move on, i still am, but i can’t be with you in the meantime. you deserve a whole person, not their pieces. and, right now, i am not a whole. i am sorry for not seeing this before. i am sorry i put you trough this. 

i will always care about you

rebecca

[dearomantic]

honey and glass

you know those kinds of girls who look like they're made of honey and glass like sticky sweet ash and you can't get the taste off your tongue burnt sugar and a little bit of rum and she dances in the rain with her clothes on drenched to the bone never knows when she's all gone, she's the life of the party and deep down i know that nobody flinches when she takes off her clothes and i wonder what it's like to be one of those girls to sit in the sun and look at the world and never think, "Wow, am i enough?" (am i enough?) 'cause life is easy when you know that you're the main character and i'm sitting here thinking this is not fair but her smile makes it hard to be mad it's not her fault that I'm so fucking sad io i'll sit here and look at these girls in the sun dancing in the rain and just having their fun and maybe one day, i can forget the past and be one of those girls of honey and glass (honey and glass) But i think that it's hard for people to see that i love all these girls, and honestly it doesn't matter what you look like or how much you weigh it's just that these girls know they're okay there's a beauty in knowing your place in the world in loving yourself and knowing your worth you don't have to be perfect or never get sad that's not what it means to be honey and glass and everyone has their highs and their lows the nights you spend crying, believe me, i know i don't want to be these girls for beauty or fame but for the confidence they have in their own damn name so I'll sit here and look at these girls in the sun dancing in the rain and just having their fun and i know it doesn't make sense to forget the past but i promise, one day, you'll be honey and glass

Peyton Cardoza

[dearomantic]

fleur,

your hair smells like elegance and your hands are soft like kindness. every single time i look at you, my heart stops. or maybe it starts beating, i don’t know. tonight i dreamt about meeting you on a bus. it’s been months since my lips kissed yours. where are you? what are your eyes looking at right now? who’s the last person you kissed? what do you see from your window? i see three little orange and red houses. in the background there is also a big tall tree. i have been living a little out of town. you would love it. there is a tone of space. there are planty of parks. you’d spend hours outside. 

find me and i’ll find you, again and again

jesse

[dearomantic]

writers,

people always told me i was a good writer. i never agreed. it always felt way too easy. maybe that’s what makes me a good writer. the being a natural. english is not even my first language. these letters are so messy. however, they make me feel good. i always loved letters. i always loved epistolary novels. these letters are giving voice to all the characters that live in my head. it’s my way to let them speak and my way of talking to them. hope that doesn’t make me sound crazy. hope other writers can relate. there’s a story behind every single character that i bring here. a long and intricate story that exists only in my head. i’m a good writer but i never manage to write those stories. i know i should. i know they’ll vanish if i don’t put them on paper. sometimes it’s just hard. sometimes it’s just easier to let them speak through a letter. again, i hope other writers can relate. 

one day i’ll tell their stories

re

[dearomantic]

dave,

you are the happy and simple and sweet love. that kind of love that makes you smile and blush. that kind of love that makes you wonder if you deserve it. everyone deserves to be loved, i know. my brain knows that. there’s no rational reason for me to push you away. you are kind and smart and caring. yet, i treat you like shit. yet, i think about him when i crawl into bed with you. angels like you can’t fly down hell with me. why can’t you see that? why can’t you see that i’m bringing you down? that i’m being the toxic one? everytime i bring this up you tell me i should love myself more than this. you’re right. you’re so damn right. but it’s not your job to fix me. it’s not your job to love me enough for the both of us. 

i’ll do my best to work things out. 

sorry if it’s messy.

sorry if this sounds like i’m playing the victim.

sorry,

rebecca

[dearomantic]

harry,

my room is messy. and dirty. not in a cute cozy way, no. it’s gross. there’s dust on my pillow case and stains on my sheets. i justify this state by saying that i am busy. that i work all day and i come back home just to sleep. it’s not true. i have the time. i’m just lazy. this was supposed to be a love letter. i think i do not miss you anymore. i miss you because i have to. because it’s my comfort zone. because my muscle memory it’s so used to miss you that now i do that without even thinking about it. i get sad when i hear your name because i’m supposed to. i get jealous when you tell me about him because i’m supposed to. i’m supposed to hate him. to hate you. my body has learnt all this bad feelings and now it can’t live without them. the problem is that i don’t think i feel these things anymore. i am not jealous. i do not hate you. i do not miss you. i’m stepping out of my comfort zone and i should make my bed. 

i can try to fix one thing at the time. i’ll change the sheets tomorrow. 

rebecca

[dearomantic]

jesse,

i hate talking to people. i used to love making new friends but now i hate it. i hate it with all my heart. whenever i move somewhere new my first thought is: i’m not going to stay. so why bother? why talking to strangers? those are friends that i’m going to lose anyways, so what’s the point? 

the truth is that i keep waiting for you. i know you told me not to, but apperently i don’t care. i’ll stay wherever you’ll chose to stay. i’ll make friends then. i’ll invite them over and get out for drinks and all that stuff that people do. 

i really wish my life didn’t fit inside my suitcase. i really wish it was bigger than that. you know i never owned cutlery? promise me someday you’ll buy me a fork and profess me eternal love. 

until then, i’ll keep packing. 

fleur

[dearomantic]

samir,

sometimes i pretend you’re one of my students. i pretend you walk in during my lesson, leaving me speechless. i keep saying to myself that one day you’ll just show up and stay forever. we don’t even have to talk about anything, we could just be there. together. in class i always talk like you’re listening. like i’m trying to impress you. guess my real students are grateful about that, my lessons got really intense. every time i talk about poetry i make a subtle yet very poetic love declaration to you. it’s like that kundera’s chapter. the one where he talks about glances. and sight. i have the franz one. i suggested you that book a long time ago. have you read it? probably not. don’t worry, i do not think about you every day. only now and then. hope it’s the same for you. but, once again, probably not. 

bye, dummy

juliàn 

[dearomantic]

unknown lover,

you keep me company when i’m sad and i tell you about my day when i’m alone. you’re the person i want to meet and the person i want to become. you’re everything i fear and everything i want. i’m sorry if i can’t bring you to life. i’m sorry if i can’t even give you a proper name. a proper face. instead, i chose to give you many. you’re him and you’re her. your eyes are blue and green and brown and you’re skin is black and white and your hair are curly but also straight. your name is harry but also julian but also vilen. sometimes you don’t even have a name. do you need one? i think not. these are my messy letters. hope they’re enough. i’m writing them because i like the typing sound that my fingers make on the computer. and also because i miss you. 

see you next time. 

R.