3:40

I am only comfortable talking in riddles, my defenses are taking control.

While waiting for you, i decided to write you a love letter, or what technically passes for one. I know i have written a few , although i really don’t know if those texts are actually love letters. There is this innate need that needs to be breathed out, released for it somewhat feels like ideas, words, phrases and lines about you are endless – and they crowd my brain like mice on a chunk of cheese.

Perhaps i am trying to make a memory , a piece of time despite the miles that separate two lost souls , faces never touched or lips never kissed. Perhaps i am trying to make something out of this feeling while it lasts. Or perhaps, i am just a psychotic weirdo who wants to write riddles and lines about someone i have never touched nor seen personally.

Of human divinity and fairy tales, i have became complacent. I have never felt the need to right what’s wrong and was content in leaving things judged and unjudged. I sure know that happy endings seldom / never happens – so here i am, talking cryptic and poetically about something – for memories are the only thing i can leave of you if time comes that you don’t wanna be my prince charming anymore.

These texts, these letters are the only thing i can give you. Although i am not saying that you will leave one day , i just thought i should remain fixated on my belief that all things are subject to change without any further notice. A notice would not be great as well anyway – i would never want to hear, nor read that ‘yo, its over’ , for i am not insensitive enough not to feel any change.

With these texts and letters, i can proudly tell myself that i was already there even before anybody else did.

Of how you paint my days are not even explainable with words – i guess i am not good with words afterall. Of how you cure my bruised face right every aftermath of the wars i waged versus myself have few terms , unexplainable though, perhaps with the lack of words thereof. Of how you clear my head from all the confusion which makes me dizzy due to me looking at dizzable things and perspectives are captivating and amazing in a way that not even the greatest writer could ever describe.

Everyday seems to be a wakeful dream. And like all dreams, things just stain together. It doesn’t make any sense, but the nonsensical transition from one scene to another is tied together by invisible strings, thus avoiding the dreams from falling apart, therefore making a story ; a memory ; a picture ; a scenario ; a coincidence and a movie.

I still recall how i was before your existence passed switly, crashing against mine. I recall how excruciating the pains were, how epiphany seemed like a nonsense term – how love was a waste of time. You taught me that it is actually alright to fall in love – don’t fall in love with every person you see but fall in love often. And i can say that I am, indeed, falling in love often , sometimes twice a day – or perhaps thrice – cause i fall in love with you over and over again.

I speak of words with no assurance of you understanding them – same way as how you speak words i can feel but can’t understand sometimes. All i know is that, i do understand eventhough i sometimes have no idea of what i am actually understanding. You don’t even need words to tell me something and vice versa – for we can have all the wordfilled and emptiest conversations and talk about it the next morning.

You are sweet laughter and pastel sunsets ; naked gardens and starlight dreams. My invincibility , my enabler and my pen. My thought and my idea and my judgement – my sweet oblivion. And as time passes by on my open palm, and moments slipped through the cracks on my skin – i think of you as a certain goal , as a chill at the edge of my fingers. As the spine that supports my sanity and the one who will help me make peace with myself. I guess peace is contagious – i wonder and i wander.

And as i wander, i am genuinely hoping that you will continue listening to my stories with some of them i mentally rehearse – in hopes that it can make you laugh and make you fall in love the same way i do. I am genuinely hoping that you would never stop being a part of me in any way possible. And this quest of having you completely, of having me and having us completely will not fail, or so did my hope say.

I guess this is where the technically passing love letter ends – not because i am losing the words, but because i don’t wanna tire your eyes from reading such a nosebleeding text – or perhaps, yes, i am losing the words , i just refuse to admit it. When the sun shines again tomorrow though, there will be a new batch of lines and phrases to bleed onto – to heed and to understand. I will probably write another letter tomorrow – for everyday, a new line comes and runs along inside my little head – and it burns – like the sun . And we will savor its heat – and live in it’s color – and I will paint the world using your face and your smile and your hands as the thesis of my soul – and i will love the world again.

Infinitely yours,

ghitte