Could You Be?

Dear The One,

I am ravaged.

Desolate and conquered.

It wasn’t even that I liked her. She was just a good friend. It was mostly that I’ve never met a girl more perfect, more desirable, or more pure. And we were friends. That was good enough for me, she was headed somewhere else. I knew all that. Then I asked her if she’d like to keep in contact during our missions. She explained she would hardly have time to email her family.

And then the text came in. The one that surprised me, and shook me; found it’s way into me like nothing I knew. No one. Nothing should have this kind of power to hurt me. “I’m not interested in the long run to keep in touch.” The perfect girl, who is friends with everybody, said in the kindest way possible that she was no longer interested in being My friend.

.

.

.

In three seconds it became too easy to tell myself that I could never be loved. In three seconds the only real insecurity I have was reinforced five-fold.

I’ve never had a successful relationship for any period of time. And not for lack of trying. They always fall apart, and early. They always brake me a little more, and deeper.

I came to the conclusion that while I am a good person, and have many wonderful friendships, I am nonetheless totally incapable of being loved by a woman who isn’t my mother or grandmother. Something about me just makes it impossible for members of the opposite gender to engage with me in any way that is romantic.

I don’t smell funny. I checked that first.

I’m not crude, and never mean. When I’m with people we tend to spend a most of our time laughing, at everything from the most serious to the least serious of things. I have a testimony of the gospel. I think deep and speak deep. I devoted myself to the gospel of Jesus Christ and watched as I changed into a person that I myself am very impressed with, especially knowing who I once was.

I tell myself all these things to support my soul. I can’t deny them because to deny the good things about myself—even for the sake of humility—would deny the power of the Atonement. For I am a product of the Atonement.

How is that so undesirable? How am I found once more, cast off by a woman of faith?

One fault too many, one beam short of building a house, I guess.

I’m excited to lock my heart. I’m excited to fill it with other things. I’m so tired of this struggle that doesn’t reap a reward.

I’ll be gone for two years, two years of lockdown. When I come back, I don’t know if I’ll be able to let love try again.

Will you help me?

Will you be that shining light? Will you cast out my darkness? Unlock the doors and end all the weakness? Could you be my strength?

Please?

Sincerely,

Aaron