Selfless

When the mail came, I couldn't help but jump in hope. I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was a letter for me.

I walked outside and into the front yard to the apartment complex I was currently living in. And when I saw the mailman come and go, I jumped up and practically ran to the mail box.

“Not me, not me, not me ...” I mumbled, putting the envelops back in the mailbox. I tossed another white envelope back in, eying one more that was in my hand. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I read that it was addressed to me and I smiled. After shutting the mailbox, I ran inside, then unlocked my door. As soon as I closed the door behind me, I grabbed the envelope opener and quickly slid it through the seal.

I wanted to cry while I was reading, I was that excited. I began pacing the room and biting my nails as I read it, trying to push down whatever emotions I was feeling at that moment. Still, tingles went up and down my spine causing my skin to prickle and my arm hairs to stand on end.

“Your darling, Gaspard ...” I whispered, beginning to tear up. I was never an emotional person until Gaspard came along, shooting all my bitterness down the drain. I wouldn't be afraid to admit that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I wanted to be happy forever and I knew he would be in that forever. I missed him and I wanted him with me. I sighed, knowing that he was doing his job, that he missed me just as much as I was missing him. I was comforted by that letter. He was feeling the same.

I sat the letter on the counter and headed towards the cabinets above the sink. I got out a mug and poured myself some coffee. And as I drank my coffee, I read his letter again. That was the moment I figured out something. It was a simple something, and yet a totally complicated something. I knew that I loved him. I loved the man that would rub my back after a long day at school. I loved the man that would recite cheesy story lines to me before I went to bed. I loved the man that would make me french toast for dinner. I loved him.

I loved him.

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Dear Gaspard,

---My sweet, sweet Gaspard. I was wondering why you didn't write sooner. I was starting to worry, you know. What if you were sick? Or what if you got in an accident? I would have no way knowing. Yeah, don't do that again, mister ...

I'm sorry, but I did get a little jealous of the lead girl. She's probably prettier then me and more interesting. You two have a lot in common, being in the acting scene and being French. She's probably has rich and known parents, too. And here, I was at school and all this time my boyfriend was rendezvousing with some Frenchie behind my back. It's not that shocking though .. you do have that charm about you.

Kay, I'm joking, but you better watch it, mister. :)

You make me turn into goo whenever you say things like that. But yes, I do miss you, very, very much. I'm all alone in this tiny flat with only a cat to keep me company --she's not much company, mind you. I hope you'd come back soon, maybe after this film, yeah?

Don't get me started, Gaspard. You can't be more boring than me. You are a French man, mind you. And you are an actor, so I doubt you are boring. Plus, I never said your letters bore me, it's just that some parts do, but they're usually outweighed by the other parts that I just totally adore.

And I'm sorry for your neck, honey. I wish I was there to fix it, too. I'll have to beat up your bed for you or put guards on the sides or something. I can't have the money maker put out of work all because of a bad neck.

My week has been a bit boring and your letter was, and still is, the only high light of it, I must admit. I swear, I about danced off of the porch to the mailbox. I wonder if I scared the mailman. I probably didn't, but you're never too sure with those mailmen. And don't worry about Bella anymore, I keep her in a room and only feed her a scrap once in awhile. Okay, calm down, I'm joking. Bella is perfectly fine. In fact, she's sleeping on the futon as I type this. And yes, I've been brushing her in my free time. So, like I said, stop worrying about us.

I better go too, this letter is getting too long and my hand is starting to cramp up.
Remember, if you cheat on me with those French women, I'll literally fly down there and cut your man hood off, myself. Ta ta for now, love.

-------------------------------------------------------------Yours truly,
----------------------------------------------------------------Cecile