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The first letter is a poem, written by a woman to a colleague who was engaged to someone else. The rhythm the note reminds me of E. E. Cummings. It goes like this:

I have this warped

fantasy. In it, you’d

tell me that you weren’t

living your life with happiness.

Then, I’d tell you to

change it.

What’s funny s that I

wouldn’t tell you to be

with me. Instead, I’d

tell you to take your

time. I’d tell you all

the things I’d want for

you.

I’d tell you that I would

want you to spend awhile

alone. To experience the

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things you crave. To feed

your soul and figure out

who you are. To kiss

deeply and to live

freely. To follow your

happiness.

And then after time, I’d

tell you other things I

want.

I’d tell you that I want

to talk to you on the

phone. That I want to sit

across from you at the

table with my hand in

yours. That I want to sit

on the couch with my legs

in your lap playing video

games. That I want to

make you dinner. That I

want you to kiss me

deeply. That I want to

whisper to you about

everything we connect on,

while laying in bed next

to you.

However, I understand

that a fantasy is just a

fantasy. And none of this

will happen. And I’ll

tell you now, that is

okay. I tell you now, I

respect you. I respect

your true happiness.

Esther tells me that the specificity of this letter makes sense.

“Fantasies are detailed scripts,” she explains. “Every small detail in a fantasy matters.”

But this letter writer wanted to be respectful, and that’s why the poem was left unsent.

Asked what the relationship is like now, the writer tells us, “Since this letter was written, we have stopped talking completely. He has also broken off his engagement.”

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Asked whether she regrets not sending the “warped fantasy” to the man who inspired it, she admits … “a bit.” Her feelings persist.

Read more about (Unsent) Love Letters


Column and comments are edited and reprinted from boston.com/loveletters. Send letters to meredith.goldstein@globe.com.