another unsent letter

Dear R.,

I know nothing about you. Nothing… except that you are alone. 

I am confused about your aloneness. Your door is always slightly ajar… like an invitation. An invitation that no one dares to heed. Do you keep your door that way with a purpose in mind? Or is that an unconscious cry for connection on your part? Do you know the answers to any of these questions? I don’t. I only know one thing with all certainty. You bewitch me.

My thoughts of you are sugarcoated with curiosity and fascination. Yet, I dare not approach that door. Every time I try, I feel as though I am about to invade a holy shrine. The air is thick and heavy around it, and I am held outside as if by invisible hands. Outside. At the perimeter of that door. At the perimeter of you. And I am beholden to the single framed photograph of a little girl that sits on your desk. 

The girl is no older than eight. She is dressed in a lemon yellow Hello Kitty dress and matching flipflops. She is standing on a beach and waving at the camera, proudly displaying her jack-o-lantern smile while the waves crash around her. Her straight black hair is spread around her face like a fan. Who is she? 

I want to walk closer to the photo and capture the full details. I want to. I won’t. Mine is an ambiguous curiosity tinted with the shame of knowing I am not entitled. I will guard my secret like a relic.

But… tell me, now...

Do you feel the probe of my enquiring gaze? 
Does my interest unnerve you? 
Are you undone by it all?

Do you ever wonder what I want from you?
Do not ask the question.
I will not tell.