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I don’t want to lose you : An emotional letter to your boyfriend

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I don’t want to lose you : An emotional letter to your boyfriend

An emotional letter to my my boyfriend, to tell you I’m afraid, to tell you I don’t want to lose you. And also – especially – to tell you I love you.

I don’t want to lose you : An emotional letter to your boyfriend

My Love,

I’m afraid of losing you. My heart misses every other beat, my stomach tightens up, my brain switches to panic mode and my paranoia kicks in. I’m afraid that you might change, my love, I’m afraid that you might not be the one I fell in love with anymore. I’m afraid of becoming jealous again. I’m afraid. You’re not the one I have met anymore and that’s normal. Years have passed, you change, so do I, so does everybody. You take different paths, paths I hadn’t thought of. You’re getting famous, chicks think you’re hot and tell you so openly when you, within the public character you’ve built for yourself, never mention your sweetheart who loves you and suffers in silence.

Afraid of being the girl who’s always on your back, saying you can’t do what you love when what I desire the most is for you to be happy. And that’s the case with your new activities, but am I ready to trade my joy of living for yours? Am I ready to endure the doubts and anguish I had managed to set aside for a year? It’s complicated for me. I unfortunately still lack the self confidence to laugh at their comments, to look past the seductions aimed at you. My reaction can seem so childish and annoying. But it’s there, real, present. Fear has nestled inside of me, and anger also pays me a visit from time to time, and that affects you too. 

I love you so much and I’m so proud of you, of everything you undertake.

I wouldn’t want to see you frustrated for all the treasures in the world! Writing is beneficial to me, it prevents me from having to tell you those things face to face, and thus from starting a pointless fight.

The fact that it’s all working out for you makes me happy but scares me at the same time, because it’s no ordinary line of work. It’s giving yourself to the audience, and in a way putting your life out in the open. I know you’re not a movie star but it’s all the same to me. The moment you start having fans is the moment it gets dangerous. My nature is to be fragile and wary, and the way things are going don’t allow me to take a step back and lick my wounds. But what could I do? What could I say? Apart from remaining silent, watching you evolve and having this horrible feeling of letting you go. Without me.

And at the same time, our complicity remains intact.

It will soon be seven years of love, six years of living together. I have your smile etched in my mind, everyday, every hour. When we fight, I remember our fits of laughter, your loving gaze answering to mine. And as I’m writing, I remember one time… You and me, lying on your bed, 90 Bedford Street, April 2010, we had been together for just a few short weeks and already we were like glued together. A long, long moment spent looking into each other’s eyes and smiling. “We’re so corny, right?” And you answered : “I’ve never been more happy in my life.”

I know I shouldn’t live in the past, you have told me time and again. To me, it’s neither nostalgia nor melancholy. The past is us, our story, what makes us today more in love than ever. The past, the wonderful moments together, the entire days spent making love, the mojitos at three in the morning, the dancing until we were out of breath, the reenactments of “Titanic” on my teeny tiny balcony, the hard times, the health issues and the obstacles too, but always, always, Love. Great, true, that keeps me going day after day. The one you have created in me and that made me crazy about you, about your blue eyes, about your teeth you only ever show when I tell a stupid joke, about your hands on my hair when I can’t fall asleep and about the loving caresses you never fail to have in store for every inch of my body.

I don’t want to lose you and I’m ready to fight against myself so that it doesn’t happen.

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