You are in your favorite dimly lit thrift store, with that old familiar smell. Old books, purses, tattered winter jackets. You scan the shelves for a good book, yet nothing really peaks your interest. The bags aren’t really sticking out, you never really commit to purses anyhow. As you make your way toward the clothes when a jacket catches your vision. You normally wear neutrals these days, but you see a dark brown leather jacket.

“Still kind of neutral”, you think to yourself.

You slip the jacket on, and it feels like it was specifically tailored to fit your arms. You catch the price tag. $5.99. Seemingly destined, you keep the jacket on and make your way to the front of the store. You cash out, and you make your way out of the store. You live downtown, so it’s a short walk to your 3rd floor apartment. It’s fall, so the weather is kind of brisk, jacket stays on. You begin your two block walk home, and you reach your hands into the pockets of your new perfect leather jacket.

What’s in the pocket? As you reached in, your hand felt an envelope, tattered. You held the envelope, tracing all the lines where the envelope had been folded and unfolded. Tracing every outline. Those three flights up to your apartment feel like time was standing still. Inside of your apartment, you finally feel warmth hit your face. You shower, change into your oversized tshirt, and hang your new jacket on the hook. You climb into bed, and immediately you remember the envelope. You jump up out of bed, and you grab this envelope from the pocket.

Plain, Manila, and old envelope. You turn it over, and written on the envelope, “V.”

“Vague — that’s what this is.”

You open the envelope, there’s a letter inside. You open the letter, to find that this was written for someone. Someone that must have been loved.

“What number letter am I on now?” written in cursive at the top of the page.

“V,

I woke up next to you this morning. And even though I knew better than to wake you, I don’t think I wanted to anyway. You looked … well, you look how I look when I think about you. At peace. You’ve been my rock for what seems like a life time. You quickly became such this beautiful hurricane in my life. It wasn’t long before I knew, and I was reminded everyday of the first time we ever met. This morning was my reminder. I held you until my last alarm went off, and I tucked you in, kissed your forehead and I came into this kitchen to tell you how much I love you without having to wake you. V, you are home to me. You’re the smell of my favorite candle that I only light on special occasions. You have this way you look at me, where the sun beats into your eyes in the perfect way. Your laugh, even after all these years, sends chills up my spine. Especially when you laugh at jokes I tell that aren’t even that funny. I wake up everyday with this warmth inside of me, and I like to believe it’s because of you. You don’t mind that I become over obsessed with one song and play that one song over and over again. You don’t laugh at me when I try to sing something and my pitch just isn’t right. I know that looking back, I should’ve known. I should’ve known you were going to change my life. And you did, you waltzed in on this giant balloon thing and you inhaled love into me in a way I’ve never known. It’s like one of those fairy takes, where everything you touch radiates joy and excitement for the future. I don’t wake up and want to die, because I finally have something worth living for.

I love you for all of these little moments,

Yours,

R.”

There’s a second page, and you realize this tone is different now.

“V,

I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I thought you might like this, the letter and the jacket. I miss you every fucking day. I’m thinking of you. I hope that if this ever reaches you, you know that I had love for you that knew no bounds. Love is a fickle thing. Whether you experience it for just a single moment, or for decades, there’s a point where you think “fuck. This one’s gonna hurt.” And I knew this was going to fucking hurt.” And it does. It fucking hurts. You put so much life into me, that now I hate knowing what life is like without you. There’s this gaping fucking hole where you took all these little pieces of me that you stitched together with perfect cups of coffee and the smell of amber and patchouli. Whatever. I hope you like the jacket, I got it from my grandmas estate, I think it might’ve been hers. She loved you, and she kept telling me to give it to you because I couldn’t just tell her that I broke us. Having to explain it still leaves this giant knot in my stomach. Feels like my hearts in my asshole. Fuck. I’m rambling again.

R.””

Well… I’m not V. And the amount of times this letter has been folded and unfolded and the envelope is hanging on by small threads, I guess that means that they did get the letter, and they missed you, too. An entire life of waiting, hoping, wondering… if that greatest love will ever come back into your arms again. Experiencing love is such a beautiful thing. It’s crazy to think that love can disappear or never exist at all, but yet… everything in life is done in love. It’s a matter of whether you open your eyes to the idea of love in every sense.

“What does love mean to me?”

Love is a warm fire on a cold day. It’s the joy that reheating the same cup of coffee every hour brings you. Love, to me, coming home after a long day and sliding into warm, fresh sheets. Love is the smell of rain on a warm day, or the first snow fall of the season. Love to me is finally having a place to hang your jacket up. Love is a warm bath, and a long road trip with the best playlist. Love has intent. Love is knowing exactly when to leave a party you never wanted to come to in the first place. Love is finding that pair of jeans that you fit perfectly into every time. Love is afternoon naps with the sun coming through the windows. Love is feeling like you finally made it home.