September 1, 2010

A LETTER (i love reading this)

it is almost a betrayal.

starving, struggling, striving poet that i proclaim to be, i never wrote down anything about you and me.

it's not that there is nothing worth writing about us. on the contrary, everything about us is. but i never wanted our life, our experiences, my thoughts on things that borders my life with your own to be mere topics, subjects for write-ups, drafts, poetry practices, or blog pieces.

I have always wanted my life with you to be memories for me to hold on to, not as mere topics for the other me who bears the this name.

I have hopes that one day,with you, i would be able to reconcile the little boy who i was who became a man, with this shell, this mask, this face, this persona who bears this name that i had to create to survive horrors thrown against me, many of them horrors and tremors i sought out for myself in my desire to be a writer of my people.

perhaps i would.

but i am no fool. time is one element that is always flowing. and with my memory going as it is, what was once a bonfire is now slowly flickering out. i can feel the flames of my memory lose their heat, their strength, their warmth, and i am afraid that when it sputters out, i may also lose everything that i have of you.

and so i am writing them down.

and perhaps one day, when i am gone, and you would wonder why i never wrote about us, you may find these fragments, these fragile words that in their shape and awkwardness attempt to hold the form of how i rediscovered life with you, of how i lived my life with you, of how it was to be able to dream again.

may my memories always stay strong and true as i write our memories. and may these memories one day bring me to you.

(REPOSTED, for intellectual property rights, all credits belong to YUMMIE)