Theory [TOM HOLLAND]

SEVENTY ONE

FROM:
Thomas Holland
67 Mercer St.
London, United Kingdom
SE27 1HF

TO:
Melina Santiago
134 Campus Dr.
Clark Kerr 33B
Berkley, CA 96072

(A Note Before We Begin: This is Draft #32 of The Letter. I would really like for this draft to work out so I don't have to burn it or recycle it or feed it to a Komodo dragon like Draft #19. So, deep breaths. Here goes absolutely nothing.)

Dear Mel,

I know it's stupid to write you a letter.

I know you'll think it's ridiculous and inefficient and a waste of paper. You'll probably recycle it and tell me that Kahn and Cerf didn't invent the internet so I could run around killing trees in vain, and goddamnit Tom, where will the sloths live now? (I'd laugh at that. I always do.)

So I know it's stupid to write you a letter. But I couldn't type this in an email, and sending a text didn't feel right, and all the carrier pigeons in London were busy. And I knew I wouldn't be able to say this if you looked me in the eyes or if I heard your voice, even if it was only for a second.

So here we are.

(I'm sorry that my handwriting's so messy. I can't stop my hands from shaking.)

Truthfully, Mel? This is the scariest thing I've ever done. And probably the stupidest. And maybe the bravest.

You'd think I'd have figured out how to say this after 31 drafts, right? I still can't find the right words after all this time.

Here's the thing: I know you.

I know you can't sleep at night if your closet doors are open. I know you drink your coffee with cinnamon. I know you hate country music, I know your nose wrinkles at the top when you laugh, I know you have a plan for your life. And I know I'm not a part of that plan.

But here's another thing: I love you.

God, I am so in love with you.

I didn't know it was possible to be in love like this. I always thought love had an ending. That it took breaks, blinked, went home or turned the light out. I didn't know that it didn't until I met you.

Here's when I thought I loved you: the first time I saw you.

Here's when I knew I loved you: when you fell asleep on my shoulder that winter day in January.

You were so tired from studying you could barely keep your eyes open. We were watching Cosmos in your bed, and I asked you what a black hole was. I knew, but I like the way you explain things to me. You told me that a black hole was an area in space of such powerful gravity that not even light could escape.

You said it half-asleep, with your hair falling in your face and your voice rough at the edges. The rain outside sounded like the whole sky was pouring down, but you were warm next to me. Your pinky was only an inch away from mine, and I could feel some invisible thread connecting them, tugging, pulling.

I asked you another question, but all you said was hmm and then you leaned your head on my shoulder and the world did this funny thing where it slipped and trembled before going still again.

Your eyelashes fluttered and time slowed. You were snoring a little bit, right there against me. I could hear your heart beating at the same time as mine.

And I knew I loved you.

You are a black hole in my life. That doesn't sound very romantic, now that I think about it. But I don't think of black holes as destructive. You called them remnants of dying stars. A rebirth.

You have consumed me, my thoughts, my heart. The person I was before I met you is gone. That Tom collapsed and imploded in a shatter of space and time, and what remains is Me and You. Me, hopelessly and irrevocably drawn to you. And You, everything I cannot understand about the universe and more.

I know this isn't how I should've told you, Mel. I know this is the wrong time and the wrong place and I wish I could've loved you all over again when you weren't leaving and I wasn't staying.

But I had to tell you. I didn't think I could live one more day without you knowing. And yes, it terrifies me that you might not feel the same and I might lose you, but none of that matters if I never try.

So if you feel the same, tell me. Write me, call me, text me, anything. If you don't, don't do anything. I'll understand.

Because I'll never stop loving you, not for one day. It doesn't matter how many years go by. There's nobody you could become that I haven't already fallen in love with.

It's you or no one else, Mel Santiago.

Love,
Tom