Dear _ _ _ _,

Retrospect won’t help you here.

Once upon a time I thought that there were so many billions of people on this earth that there was no way the emotions vibrating through my head and my heart could possibly be unique. For all the books that I’ve read and the songs I’ve listened to and the films I’ve watched that illustrate love and loss and tears and joy — they all spoke of that void ( and the infinite pursuit to fill it ) so eloquently, I really believed that I wasn’t riding alone in this carriage on board this train of thought. The limits of just about everything will never cease to impress me. I always believed anything and everything magical would trump all things scary, sad and solitary. The notion that happiness isn’t infinite, has been the most acute wake-up-this-is-reality call that I have ever experienced. In what world is there a limit to love and time and nights that made you so happy you thought you could fly? I don’t believe you can lose that kind of perspective - for every broken heart, for every winter night, for every nightmare, they would never have to re-occur for me to take the indescribable love, the summer days and the jogging gorgeous daydreams for granted. 

All the wisdom and well-wishes in the world couldn’t possibly take this ache away. If anything, the copious distraction leaves a trembling sensation of apprehension in the pit of my stomach. Diversion is unsustainable, but when even the truth can’t save you - what will? Maybe it’s the fleeting kindness of strangers, your to-do lists and all their neutral purpose, the sunshine peaking in between the clouds and thoughts from across the sea. If it’s not enough to convince you that life is worth falling in love with, perhaps it can help you keep even one thread of faith that it isn’t all as bad as it seems.

Isn’t it bizarre that at the centre of the world, emotions are more powerful than the truth, than reality, than the tangible sensation of the sun, the air and the skin of somebody brave enough to conquer your made-up-mind? Indeed there are things that you’ll never be able to let go of, and perhaps the memories of what was will always make you cry. But if what you crave doesn’t even exist anymore, then what? If you ache for a memory, then even when the nostalgia becomes too much to bear, there isn’t much else to do other than write about it and make yourself a cup of steaming hot tea. Isolate yourself, listen to some lullabies and make-believe that who you were before this happened is worth becoming once more. And like always, it’s easier said than done.

( “ i know you’re tired of loving, of loving, with nobody to love,
nobody, nobody !” )


PS. There are no words of gratitude powerful enough for me to articulate my thank-you to the priceless company and the ceaseless surprise that despite not deserving the time of day, I’ve been given hours of love that I hope one day I am powerful enough to reciprocate. Merci, merci, merci.

PPS. "'The real hell of this,' he told her, 'is that you're going to get through it.'" -- G. Caldwell.