Open Letter to the Lovers

I wrote a series of "Dear Lover" opening lines, mentally addressed to a variety of lovers past and present, and I deleted them all.

After all, if I can't say it (or ask it) to their faces, what's the point of writing it on a blog they'll never read?

Loneliness is not poetry. Desperation is not art. Neediness is not literature.

People come and go within minutes, hours, days, weeks - if you're lucky, months, years, a lifetime.

There are those I lost a few years ago. There are those I lost a few weeks ago. There are those I never really had at all, and those I haven't lost yet but am sure to lose.

So I can't write, "Dear Lover, Please don't leave me," because they surely will. Or I will surely leave them.

And I can't write, "Dear Lover, Where are you?" because they surely will not respond.

Am I better off asking the question that will never be answered than not asking it at all?

I choose a third option: ask only the questions that will be answered. Make only the requests that will be acknowledged.

I will not fall upon the deaf ears of life and scream.

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