Letter to Love

Love,

I had dismissed you from my life. I didn't want you interfering with my family, with my friends or their friends, and especially not with any handsome men that might cross my path. I hated you so fully. I tried washing you down the shower drain, crying you out on my knees in pain. You were a tough one to get rid of, but I succeeded. For some period of time—a little over a year, as it were—I was free from your grasp. I did whatever I pleased with whomever I pleased. My family was leaving me blessedly alone, my friends didn't come to me for counsel. I looked after me and forgot about you completely.

It was February thirteenth—go figure. I was sitting on that bench minding my own business. Like a threaded needle you slid into me. I barely felt anything; I am used to needles. Slowly, you plotted a course through my veins, finding the most inconspicuous artery and gliding up it, looking for a quiet route to my core. I didn't even notice, but by month two I was yours again. My body had become a cross-stitch. I am a marionette, completely at your will. Here I am six months in and it's only now I can identify that it's you who has been screwing me up again.

I haven't decided to let you stay, but I don't think I'll evict you just yet. It hurts too much to cut all those threads. I bled too much the first time. But let this be a warning, Love. I know exactly what to do to rid you from my life. Either we work together this time, or so help me I'll get the scissors. Just as I am capable of unspeakable things, I know that you are, too. Direct the silver point where I urge you. Wrap his heart in your red thread web, and tighten it in my direction. I'll go through the motions as always I've been. You look after you. I trust you to do what you have to do.

-L