The existence of Children.

Dear ____,
I want to snuggle you. I want to tell you I love you. I even, I hesitate to say, want to have children with you. You are such a beautiful person, inside and out. You are sweet and kind and sometimes you are just what I need.

I can't shake the image of a little girl, our little girl, cuddled up with you reading a story. I think you would be a wonderful father. And I hope, one day, that you find the woman to make you a father. I wish it could be me.

I love you. I love you so much, but I love ______ too. And I can't just stop that. I can't just give up on him. And I know this isn't going to be the beginnings of a polyamorous relationship, because I'm pretty sure I'm the only one here who would be cool with that.

I love too much. I think too much. I wish too much.

I just can't stop seeing a little girl with curly hair and a bow, curled up in your lap while you read to her. And I can't stop the butterflies I get when I think of that image. The longing I have to make that a reality and not just my imagination.

You said sexy was in the eye of the beholder and that I had every potential to be a mother. How would you react if I told you that I want to be a mother? That I want to be the mother of your daughter? I want to believe that you would want the same thing. I want to believe that you would find me attractive... dare I say, sexy?

In the meantime, I daydream and feel guilty and worried. I don't want to harm our friendship. And I don't want to lose ______ either.

Maybe in the next life, I'll find you sooner.

A God Complex

Dear God,
My mother wonders why you and I aren't on speaking terms. She wonders why I no longer believe in you. It's obvious to everyone that I wanted to. I've tried to.

The reason, God, is that I can't trust you. It all comes down to that, really. I can't trust you to be the "loving" and "benevolent" God people claim you are. I can't trust the God of the Bible. I can't trust in you at all.

You don't wonder why, because you are omnipotent, or so they say. But in case there is any confusion, I'll spell it out for you.

When I was a little girl I was molested by a friend. A girl friend. And I realized that I liked girls. I was intrigued by the idea of a vagina and breasts. I wanted to touch and caress and prod these things. I wanted to learn more about them. I wanted to be sexual with these body parts, even though I had no idea what that meant, because I was far too young to know what sex was.

I wasn't completely naive. I realized, quite quickly that being with girls, while being a girl, was very wrong and that I shouldn't be having those feelings. So I prayed that you would make me a man. I asked you to make me a man, because then I could be with a woman and you wouldn't hate me. I could speak in Church, be a pastor, do anything I wanted to; if I were a man. I developed the worst kind of penis envy.

As I got a little older, I realized that becoming a man would actually make you hate me as well, because I would be changing the person you had made. The person you created would be altered and, in reality, I would still be a woman sleeping with a woman. And then there was the pesky problem of my attraction to men as well.

If you created me, then am I not perfect as I am?

The other reason I can't trust you, God, is because of ___. You allowed him into our lives. You allowed him to abuse us. You allowed him to break us. You allowed that. You didn't have to. You didn't have to stand by and just watch. You could've saved us, because you are all powerful, are you not?

Instead, we were beaten, starved, abused, etc. for fifteen years. FIFTEEN YEARS, God. Are you listening? FIFTEEN. Not two or three. FIFTEEN. My mother believed you wanted us to be there. That you brought him to us. That you are good and know everything. You had a reason, a purpose.

What kind of purpose did you have?

What possible purpose could you have, allowing a tyrant to belittle, berate, beat and abuse two small children? What reason is there for that?

What greater purpose was served while my brother screamed for mercy? While he cried out to YOU? What greater purpose was served there, God?

You allowed men into our lives. Men who claimed to be of you. You allowed them to play puppeteer with the tyrant you had already given us. You allowed cruelties that still give me nightmares.

___ used to say that you were a gentleman. That you allowed everything to happen because it had to happen to make us who we are. He would say that while he made excuses for his abuses. He was abused, so he didn't know any better. His sexuality was damaged by his parents, so it was okay to damage mine and my brother's. He was damaged, so that gave him the right to continue the damage. He made excuses for everything, even for you.

Yes, I'm angry. I'm an atheist because I am angry. Because I have lost all the belief I ever had in you.

Can you blame me?

The Golden Man

Dear ____,

I keep telling myself that I will stop missing you, stop writing you. I tell myself that I never really loved you and you never really loved me. It doesn't make anything hurt less, it doesn't change how I feel. No matter what I do, I keep thinking about you. I miss you. I wish things had been different.

I was seventeen. I had just gotten out of a bad relationship. I had finally broken up with the Edward in my life. My home life was deteriorating. I was losing faith in God, in religion, in love. I was wilting, like a forgotten flower in a too sunny window.

And you came in to my picture. You came into the darkness and pulled me out. Or so I thought.

I had a crush on you. You were so smart, strong and funny. You were sweet and wonderful, it was easy to fall for you. I didn't even have to try. But you had a wife and I valued our friendship too much to say anything. Not that you couldn't see it written all over my face. I can say I never tried to take you from her. I am still her friend, though I still feel the shame bubbling up in my cheeks sometimes when I talk to her.

I worshiped you. I adored you. I loved you. I wrote so many poems in your honour, though I have often said I would not waste another verse on you. I say I will not waste another tear in your name.

I keep thinking back to when I told you that I had a crush on you. You said you had already known. I blushed because I couldn't believe I had been so obvious.

I told you that I wanted to have sex. You said you would ruin me for other men. I told you I wanted to be ruined. Sometimes when I think about that I know you ruined me anyway.

I can still feel your fingers tracing the soft part of my neck up to my ear and back down as I was trying to write that mythology I was creating. I had dedicated a character to you. The most beloved man created by the Gods and Goddesses of my world. I called you Zimri. How fitting that, in the Bible, Zimri is a traitor and the name itself means "my song" (Or mountain sheep, but that fits less perfectly.)

I remember how strongly I wanted to kiss you. I remember making you blush, twice, and marveling at my ability. I remember how badly I wanted you, while feeling the guilt creeping around the edges. Your wife. Your son and your daughter. Your life that I was so desperately wanting to be a part of.

I was seventeen, though, ____! You should've resisted me, should've told me no. Told me that it was inappropriate. Why didn't you? Was I Lolita, seducing you away from God and family?

I blame myself for inviting you to the prom. I blame myself for asking you to go with me. I wish I'd never gone. I wish I'd never said anything. But I wanted that experience. I wanted to experience prom, to experience a dance. It was my first dance and I was so excited to be dancing with you. I remember all the moves we created for "Beep" by the Pussycat Dolls. Sometimes, when I'm reminiscing, I play it. I dance and I think about you.

Sometimes I look at the pictures from that night. The night we stopped being friends. The night we became something more than friends, but less than lovers.

I abandoned you when you said you were leaving her. When you said you no longer believed in God. I was afraid, more than anything. And I was angry. I don't even know why I was so angry. I know I felt ashamed and betrayed for everything that happened between us. But that wasn't the reason I stopped talking to you. You had left me, now you were abandoning God and family. The whole time that I knew it could never be, even when I was hoping it would be, I prayed you would stay married. I prayed you would stay with your wife. I prayed I would forget you.

My prayers were for nothing. I still lost you.

The wound still aches every now and then. It still throbs. I still dream about you. I still miss you. I still love you. The truth of the matter is that I always will.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had to remove you from my life. I wish I hadn't, now. But where would we be? You wouldn't have come back to me. You wouldn't have fulfilled my dream. You couldn't. We couldn't

Some days, I admit, I still want you. I am comfortable admitting that. I wouldn't do anything now, because I am happily married, but I still wonder.

I think my problem is that I wonder if you still think about me. I just want to know that you miss me too. And I don't know why I want to know that. Do you ever think about me? Do you ever miss me? Do you ever want me still? I wish you would message me. Just once, let me know that you still love me like you said you always would. Even though we still can't be. Even though I shouldn't let you back in.

Darling, I miss you, but this is another in a series of confessions I've written on my way to letting you go. I won't e-mail you. I won't message you on Facebook. I won't try, though I want to sometimes. I will eventually come to terms with this.

In the meantime, I hope you are doing well. I hope you are happy and healthy. I hope all sorts of beautiful hopes for you.

Love,
Sarai

Confession

While I'm admitting secrets, maybe I should tell you that you meant the world to me and it hurts so much that you decided that our friendship wasn't worth the time. I hate you, but I miss you. Maybe someday it will fade, but for today it is an angry welt on my heart that keeps screaming curses at you for the betrayal. Are you Happy?

To my Father

Do you ever wonder? Does your mind ever drift towards mine in the darkness of the night? Do you ever think about what it would've been like to watch us grow up? To watch us change and mature, take wing like silken butterflies on a summer breeze?

Or do you just lie on your bed in your cell, listening to your cellmate masturbate and wonder how you ended up where you are now?

Does it suck knowing that you have two children all grown up somewhere, you don't even know where? Do you ever wish that you were here, or do you just pretend that we don't exist? Believe it or not, we do exist.

Do you still care? Did you even care to begin with?

I wonder. My mind often drifts toward wherever yours may reside, drifting over endless seas of darkness and time. I try not to think about what it would've been like to have a father to be there for me. And now, we are adults, unlike those butterflies because we have no wings with which to fly. I can't stand to think about you some days, it's like watching a bloody sunrise and wishing the dead back to life.

It sucks knowing that you never got to watch us grow up, that you don't even know where we are right now. It sucks because we don't know where you are either. I wish you were here, I can't deny your existence no matter how hard I try.

I still care. I have always cared. I miss You.

Hung Up On Bitter-Sweet

Dear _____,

I wanted to write you a letter, to explain what I'm feeling right now, but I can't bring myself to enter into the beauty that is your life now. I don't understand any of it, I loved you so much. I don't understand why you ended up with her, but I hear that you are happy, I know you have a child now. I can't help but think sometimes that that child might have been mine had things been very different. We could've been happy, but you never said anything, you never spoke to me or told me how you felt. Why didn't you speak up? I know you cared for me too! You expressed it in so many unspoken ways and I thought, finally, someone looked beyond the flesh and saw the me that was sitting inside the prison of my body. But I guess not now. I guess that was just another lie in a long list of sins.

I wanted to tell you how much I hate to hear your name now because I feel like crying every time I think about you. I wanted to tell you all the feelings welling up inside of me and why they are there. I wish I could, but I can't bring myself to hurt her like that. Even though we haven't been friends in years, I can't help but try to be kind to her. I loved her once, you know. I called her friend at one time, before all of this has fallen onto the jagged rocks of reality. I just don't understand you. I know the reasons, I hate the reasons. Why did you ask him, when you must have known what he would say? I would have given it all up, you know. I would've given up all those dreams, all those hopes if you had said something. I hate that you never actually spoke up, professed some feelings for me. Why?

Instead, here I am, heart-broken thinking about the times we had together, when you actually seemed to care. I have to know, I want to know. Do you love her? Or did you marry her because they said she was perfect for you? Do you treat her well? Does she love you or did she just marry you because you were perfect too? And why is it wrong to believe like I do? Why should belief tear people apart when it should bring them together? I don't regret not having you, I am in love with someone now, but it still hurts so. Some days it's like you tore my heart out and then shoved it back upside down and backwards. You can't force a square into a circle and you can't force my heart back in when you've already disfigured it like you have.

So, I guess this is goodbye, love. I am slowly getting over you and the pain that I didn't know could exist. Did you know that sometimes the longing for someone you loved so passionately once can put a bitter taste on the world until even the beautiful things that you have going have that bitter-sweetness to them? Do you still love me? Did you ever really care about me or did I just imagine that you actually loved me once? I wish I could ask, but I don't want to destroy what you have. Maybe we never would've been happy, maybe we wouldn't have lasted long, but God, I wish I had at least had that chance to find out. I don't understand why it hurts so much, I really don't. I do love him, he is amazing. He is sweet and loving and smart. He is everything that you were and yet different and brilliant with his own mix of spice and sweet. There is pain and there is joy and I don't understand why I'm still so hung up on the pain you caused.

Dearest of hearts, I know it wasn't meant to be. Don't worry, I'm going to be okay. I wish you happiness with her. I sincerely hope that you love her, that you actually care and that you are kind to her. I love you enough to let you go this last time, even though I never really wanted to in the first place.

Sincerely and best wishes.
_____ _. ______