A Love Letter

Eileen... Eileen... Eileen...

Saying your name out loud makes my heart beat loudly, faster.

I cannot wait to see you again. Even if you barely know I'm there, while you're caught up in a smile, or a sigh, some task taking your attention, it makes me so happy just to be near. Even if you don't know that it is I who love you...

Could you know this sharp sting of desire, this terrible sweet longing?

I know when I fell in love with you.

You were working that day, you laughed, head bent over a book; a lock of hair fell forward. My eyes moved longingly over the line my finger would have traced bringing your hair back behind your ear, as you did, without looking up. You passed in front of me, your perfume in the air. I felt short of breath, like I had buried my head in the warm sweet smell of a freshly laundered pillow.

When I blink, even in that millisecond, I still see you there, as you were that day. The flash of your eyes, the smile playing on your lips, everything fades but you. In that moment, heaven is in the whispering echo of your laugh. I want nothing more, only this, only you.

A year has passed since that day, and I have become your friend. I remember how it happened. One day we spoke, I in my wheelchair, you were carrying a large stack of folders. You could barely press the elevator call button, so I did for you. You looked gratefully at me and smiled that dazzling smile, gleaming so bright it hurt my eyes.

I stammered, "You, you, you're welcome." and looked quickly down. I pretended to smooth my tie down my shirt, hoping you couldn't hear my thoughts as I fought not to look at you.

"Nice tie." you said, noticing.

I smiled at you then, as it was a particular favorite of mine, my first "grown-up" tie. I had only owned standard ties before this one. This was my first major indulgence, a $200 striped blue silk number, and it was beautiful.

"I can carry those for you if you'd like." I said, continuing to smile. I held my hands out, gesturing at the load of folders.

"C'mon! It's one of the benefits of this chair! Nothing seems too heavy." I smiled again, encouragingly.

"Ok," you said, "If they're not too much trouble. The 5th floor is a long ride down and my arms are already sore."

"No problem, see?" as I took the files and placed them easily in my lap and straightened them, grateful that they could cover the all too evident show of desire I had for you.

The elevator dinged, and I rolled in, your hand on my shoulder, as if to help me. You hit the button for the 5th floor, and looked at me quizzically. I nodded, and smiled again. We rode those wonderful too short seconds, or were they minutes, down in silence. I couldn't feel the folders in my lap, nor the chill of the elevator air-conditioning, nothing but the heat of your hand resting on my shoulder and the electricity it sent to the pit of my stomach, to everywhere.

The doors opened on the 5th floor, and you stepped out to the side, unconsciously holding the doors open for me so I could roll out. It was amazing that nothing seemed awkward, that my disability seemed not to matter, like it was the most normal of motions. I usually had to ask people to do that for me, but you had needed no words.

I started to unload the files onto the reception desk and you reached down to help me. As you did, your fingers brushed me, and I almost jumped out of my skin. Oh god, the heat and the desire, swallowed me. I was horrified to realiize that my body readied itself and there was no hiding it.

I looked up to say a hurried goodbye, when you leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks," you said, as you straightened, "gallantry is alive and well and lives in New York City."

"You're very welcome," trying desperately to sound calm, "It truly was my pleasure." I said sincerely.

As I started to wheel around and go back to the elevator, my eyes caught yours as you looked over your shoulder and smiled slowly at me.

It was that day I started to pray, to hope that perhaps a life, that I dared not want before, was possible for me, a broken man, but someone whole with love for you.

I dream of you. I aspire to be a part of your life. I know I am part of it now, but not enough, never enough. All this time I have held myself back from telling you how I felt, afraid I would see only friendship in your eyes. But I've seen you with men you've loved, and thought my chance had passed me by, then I'd held you in my arms when they broke your heart, angry with them for wasting a chance with you, aching with you as your tears fell onto me, and I knew that I would never hurt you. I know I can be the man for you, the husband, the lover, the protector, and the friend you need and want.

My body burns with fever for you and yet my forehead is cool. I am out of breath, confident, but unsure; full of love, accepting, yet hesitant; joyful, eager, yet afraid, all these things I am, and only one thing I am not. I am not complete, until I hold you in my arms and whisper into your ear that I love you, and only you.

When, my darling, when?