A Letter of Resignation

My dearest X,

While in the course of my employment with BYU, I have made it my objective to avoid affection at all cost. As I've explained before, passions are so unproductive. They tie up your attentions and leave little room in your head for anything else. But now, after almost four years, I submit to you my resignation: I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment you walked through the door. And I loved you the moment I walked out. My tenure at BYU has spanned seven years, and I can say without reservation, my favorite part was you.

You may be asking yourself "Why?" or more aptly "Where the hell is this coming from?" Out of fear, I hide my affections very well. Fear is my exposed Achilles heel. It makes me freeze in the very moment that I need to be volitional. And so in a way, I've been frozen since I met you. It's like everyone is waiting for me to choose one of three doors, and I cannot choose any because being stuck in one moment, clinging to hope is better than choosing the wrong door. I want the Mercedes, but maybe the Mercedes wasn't made for me, and somehow I'm stuck with the washer and dryer behind door number three instead of the beautiful new C-Class that I so badly wanted. You and fear make me out to be the world's biggest pansy.

But I also won't fight for attention. I just won't do it. I refuse. Fighting for someone's attention is a bit like being the only one at a party that wasn't invited. Oh sure, I'll stay at the party because it's fun, make a few rounds, and take full-advantage of the open bar, but I'll duck out before anyone notices that I'm not on the guest list. My dear X, if you invited me, I couldn't tell. If I invited you, you couldn't tell. It was stale-mate.

I had almost four years to be happy. But under fear, I was content to just know where you were, how you were doing. Now, I no longer have the one thing that brought us together, and I don't know where you are or where you're going. Where ever it is you're headed, my heart says that I was supposed to be there with you. This is how my heart mourns:

Leaving school is so rough. I had this picture in my head of how life would be after graduation, and life just doesn't look quite like that. It takes a few months to adjust your plans to a more healthy place. When they learn that I've graduated in Psychology, people ask, "What do you want to do with that?" I may say anything that suits the conversation, but the real answer is: I just want to be happy with you.

So after these past four years of agonizing and doubting, I've come to this conclusion: it doesn't matter what I look like. It doesn't matter how much I earn. It doesn't matter if you are the one I deserve... because you are the one I will always want. And that is love's only bottom line.

I will never meet anyone better. I will never meet anyone happier. And I know that I will never meet anyone kinder. After four years, I am resigned: my dearest X, I will love you forever.

Yours always,
Aaron