Dear Willow,

This is a letter of complaint.

You never cease to amaze me. (In the worst way possible.) 

This past week at summer camp, you found what seems like love. Let me tell you—love always disappoints. Don’t hold too tightly to it, it will fade away, leave, or just forget. 

I’m just here to remind you of what you used to believe about love. Maybe Grief and I can change your mind.

Love used to look like Kenny in the fourth grade—he was funny and kind of nice, but most of all he was cute and made all the girls laugh. So that was good enough for us.

Love used to look like Josiah in the fifth grade. I think you two were quite cute but only in a “I’m moving so don’t forget to write” but then he never writes back way. But for an elementary school love, I suppose it sufficed. 

Love used to look like Byron from the moment you met him—at age four—to freshman year of high school. Was it love or an infatuation? Neither you, Grief, Delusion, nor I were sure, but then again: distance makes the heart grow fonder, so I don’t believe you ever knew what love was. That’s what happens when love is spread across the country: you never know where your heart belongs.

Love used to look like Logan in high school. This one we thought was real. The movies always push the limits of distance and time but apparently one month is long enough to move on, if there was anything to move on from. 

Love used to look like the boy you never met in person but that’s what happened to your parents so you were sure that these were real feelings. Anything is possible, Delusion would whisper at night when the Fantasies danced across the walls. If Anything is the loss of yet another chance at what you call love, then yes—anything is possible.

And now, the love you claim to have found looks even more dangerous. Someone you can’t even see—but can only hold in your hands in the form of a book, and songs, and words sent up high. 

I will admit, this love seems more powerful. And you keep pushing me away—this is not normal. There’s a new room in the home of your mind, Willow. The name on the door reads the same first four letters as mine, but that’s where the similarities stop.

A beautiful arched oak door. Two sconces on either side. A welcome mat right in front. 

Compare it to my dark mahogany door with enough bolts on the outside to block out Overthinking’s rampages. The single candle on the ground. 

This new love you’ve found, I wonder if it means more people will move in. I’ve already seen Anger slowly packing her things. Grief, however, is still right at home. But he’s been quiet lately. I suppose humans cannot fully remove grief, no matter how powerful of a love they find.

I do not know how much longer I will be here. With a new stranger called Peace moving into Hatred’s home, I fear that someone will be taking my spot too.

How strange, to have a Hope and Hopelessness in the same corridor of your mind. But I’ve heard rumors of a future new resident, Joy, taking my place. It is all rumors though, I keep telling myself. 

All of this is to say that I hope you don’t get too attached to this new love of yours. If it’s anything like the last loves, you will get very hurt. Even I do not want to see you broken like before. 

Sincerely,
Hopelessness