Yours Truly (Petekey)

Letter: #1

Written by: musicalromantic

Dear Lord Way,

I am afraid that I must confess to you... the conditions in which I write this letter are not the ideal ones. Please forgive the destitute paper, the poor ink quality, the unforgivable speech... I only had a moment to spare for you I must admit. My father will be calling again for my any minute, and I will be again slammed into the harshness of reality around me. The one in which I am only a tailor's son, and you are the magnificent son of a Duke.

Allowing me to get the... formalities... out of the way, I would formally like to thank you for inviting Mr. Patrick Stump and myself to join you, Lady Kirsten Colby, and Lady Hayley Colby for a delightful evening out watching Shakespeare's classical story, Romeo and Juliet. Your generous offer has kept me in high spirits all week, as I had never had the privilege of attending something so entertaining or prestigious. I think you will be glad to know that I found it most enjoyable, and just how I had always read it.

On to more personal business I need to have the liberty of discussing with you, if I may be so blunt, you have not spoken to me since that night. And you have not even commented to me on what happened that night. Going on and completely dismissing that matter, I have debated writing to you at all. I convinced myself that you would have no time on your hands to read this letter, or even want to read the letter. I even had my doubts that you would even receive it. This all changed with an intense and raging inner battle that I had with myself this morning after breakfast with my father. I think that you will pleased to hear to hear me say that the part of me that did not want to fight against my true feelings, won out. Hopefully, my letter will not be thrown into my waste basket in a few hours time, and hopefully I will not regret sending it to you. Hopefully you will receive this in good spirits and it will not be found in a much more expensive wastebasket this time. I do not think you have that much hate towards me that you would throw a letter from me away, but I suppose that I can never be truly certain unless I actually send it to you. God only knows.

Starting off another topic of personal discussion, I would like to thank you for the wonderful book you gave me the days prior to Kirsten Colby's masquerade ball when you, your brother, and your brother's wife came into my father's shop. I have been reading it nonstop. I am almost halfway through it because I read whenever I am not running chores for my father. I implore you to understand that this book that I have the honor of reading speaks to me in a way that no other book can. Byron has that affect on me, I suppose. Part of me wonders if you even understand my talk of Byron and Shakepeare. Will your eyes simply skim over this part of the letter and not really even read this? And then my mind moves to the other ways you will read this letter. Will you be looking for something specific in this letter that I will either provide or deprive you of? My hand is starting to shake just thinking about you reading this letter, and I am beginning to think if I should even continue on. Will this even reach you safely? If you are to see this letter lying on your desk and see who it from, will you give it the honor of a small, piteous glance, or will you actually read it? Will you pour over the words like a logical man like yourself would, or read it as a normal letter?

Your ways confuse me so, and yet I am only able to look at you as the easiest thing to understand in the world. We share different beliefs and different worlds, but I am able to understand you due to curious reasons I have yet to figure out. Perhaps you could assist me in understanding your ways.

I think about the night at Kirsten's ball. Did it ever dawn upon you that I might show up in a mask that night and enjoy the festivities of an eighteen year old girl's birthday celebration as well, or did you believe me to ignore her night completely and sulk in my room instead? Did you know it was I in the mask who questioned you on who you were speaking of when you uttered the words. "Found you"? Perhaps instead, you saw me as a jealous suitor of Lady Kirsten, or did you see me as just a curious bystander who needed to mind his own business? I could sense the hostility rolling off of you in that moment, and that was when I knew I would not want to be on the receiving end of whatever stare you were giving me under your mask. Only now can I compare the stare you were giving me to one of the Greek myth's: Medusa. The gorgon who could turn people to stone with a single stare. I was thanking God that you actually wore a mask, or I would be turned to stone, for I believe that the look you would give me would be much worse than Medusa's.

One thing you must understand about me, is that I am a master of stalling. In fact, I am doing it now instead of telling you the things I wish to. The things I wish to tell you scare me beyond belief. I feel as if I write these words that must never, ever be spoken aloud, then they will be real, and there will be no hiding it from you anymore. There will be no hiding these feelings from myself anymore, and I won't have a secret that means as much as this particular one does. I believe I must have my secrets, but this is a secret I don't know how to tell you. I don't know how to tell you, because you are confusing. I believe that because this world is harsh and sad, I will be left contemplating this question forever,

Do I dare?

Do I dare tell you what Peter Wentz feels for you? Will you cast me aside, and have me thrown in a prison cell to rot forever, or have me publicly humiliated before my inevitable hanging? I have no doubt you are tired of my stalling, so I will stop being such a woman, and I will tell you.

But before, I do, I must make sure you understand what I am about to tell you, you have rushed to conclusions on my relations with Mr. Patrick Stump. You assume that we are romantic partners that are in a secret relation. Pardon me for saying so, my lord, but you could not be more wrong. I do not have romantic feelings for Mr. Stump, nor will I ever have them. Mr. Stump and I have been friends ever since we were toddlers, playing in the streets. Our fathers were friends, and so we became unseperable. He helped me get through my mother's death when my father turned to alcohol and long nights of sleep where he never even checked on me. He was a source of solace that I commonly looked to when I was having too much difficulty dealing with the world, alone. But I assure you, the feelings I have for Mr. Stump are very much platonic ones, that will never turn into anything more.

Now, I truly will stop my stalling and explain to you how I feel, honestly. The way I feel for you is not how a friend feels for a friend. It is not how a mother feels for a child, and it is not how a man feels for a woman that he finds by the docks. It is a different, special kind of feeling that I do not believe I can put into words. I have tried several times to explain this feeling, but even that unspeakable 'L' word does not even begin to describe it. I can only guess that I will forever thank you for allowing me to feel like this. I did not think I was possible of it, and yet you have achieved in making me feel it, so I congratulate you as well as thank you one-hundred times over. You have added a new feeling to my dictionary of feelings, and I must thank you over and over for it.

I feel like I could write to you forever, and you would still listen, but alas I cannot as I hear my father calling my name at this second. I must bid you farewell and thank you.

Yours Truly,
Peter Wentz