Poetry

My personal love letter to Timothée Chalamet (even if it’s not reciprocated)

By on Thursday, June 25, 2020

Darling Timmy,

Listening to So Close by Jon McLaughlin at 3 AM, I could only smile with a heavy sigh as I try to express this feeling at the end of my fingertips. Please absolve me, my dearest, for all the things that I am about to say to you for my melancholic heart is just so full of you.

On a sea of all these beautiful boys and girls that are going crazy over your delicate whole self, don’t worry because I’ll just probably stay away and do my best not to annoy you. Because you see, the thought of you cancelling me, even if I am just a nobody, would tear down my heart straight to the ground into a million cheerless pieces.

But can I just say that you, Timothée, is just easily a sight for sore eyes. It’s true and I can’t help it. With your impeccably perfect and God-made bone structure to the ends of every lovely follicle of your classic waves, words from English to French are just failing me every time. But I will still try.

Because every time I try not to look deep and get lost into your dangerously green eyes, I always find myself both charmed and enchanted. Those are heaven-sent and I am happy for you that you are opening those two gifts every morning on your birthday. You are so lucky, my love, for it will never be a joined Christmas and Birthday present. You, yourself, are a star and a gift of the universe to me – out of my reach but is always shining.

And I wonder if you get so sad, though, at stupid o’clock because I am now.

That in this lifetime, I will always be a stranger to the likes of you. And you will continue living your life carrying those million-dollar smile and not have an idea that there’s a boy from thousands of miles away wondering how it’s like to actually hold your hands. I want to look into the spaces between your fingers and be reminded that I can always access and fill it up with mine.

I wish we could both hop on ’65 Ford Mustang Convertible and drive to the wide-open road of God knows where places as we plan to cross many state lines. Me and you, a full tank of gas, windows down, smoking cigarettes, and listening to our made-up Spotify playlist. I want to see how the wind blows your hair back and how every curl of it reacts to whatever temperature the breeze there is out there. I want to glance at you smirking because I want to make sure I am making you laugh with my crazy stories. And I want us to laugh together, frantically, uncontrollably, breathlessly.

And I also wish that we could randomly pull over and just admire the view in front of us. We could bring a big cooler packed with our favorite beers and we will drink it on the many pitstops that we are taking along the way! We’ll disconnect ourselves away from the internet because, for me, there’s no way my friends should be updated because I want our time to be exclusive and I will try my hardest to live at every dazzling moment with you. I will remember every word of our conversation and I will remember the scent of every smell so that if it turns out to be only just a dream, I will wake up happy and think that at least, even if it’s not in person, I lived with it.

Darling, you continue to inspire me. In every possible aspect from a vantage point of a spinning bicycle. If by any impossible chance this letter reaches you, and that I hope I know when it does, that’s the time I could only be so close, and could mostly be the closest I got, but still yet remain very far. I am very much aware that it will always be so far. And that’s totally alright because, in my sweetest dreams and most terrifying nightmare, I will fully, fiercely, passionately continue to embrace you.

For now, it’s good to know that you are always just a daydream away.

All my loving that I could possibly imagine sending to you,

Marron

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