Dearest Friend,
It seems like such long and tiresome periods exist to define the space between
our hearts. You don't really know who I am, and it stings like a dullness
too deep to discriminate; you've never really known who I am. But I've known
you. With a smile on my face and with joy in my heart I have paid you
attention, never losing a moment on you. Like the child is fascinated by
the penny, like the innocent soul plays in the imagination, I too have believed
such things about you. There are no words for that which you've inspired
in me, just know that it's lovely. You've been lovely. You've been
my muse. When I think of you I fill with the bittersweet, and struggle to
fight the wonderful tears that encompass a nature unrelenting; waves on the
shores of my mind. It knocks at my door; I stare out from behind the
windowpane that becomes my allegory. I suppose some would call me mad,
but I've read stories about beautiful places, and those who inhabit these
worlds are often mad as well, and I enjoy them so. Maybe it's not such a
bad thing, to be mad. I thought I read about you in a Dickens novel, and
then I thought I heard you in a song…I thought I touched you in a dream.
My waking hours are long; they reach into the smaller moments, where I spend my
mind poor. The bits and moments in between have been filled with
you. My dearest Friend, you haven't aged a day. I've seen the Mona
Lisa, but it was your smile that brought mystery to my life. I've heard
the Fur Elise, but it was your laugh that opened the windows of my soul.
The breeze flowed in, and it stole my heart away. You were there, when I
first saw Rome, and you were there, when I first felt love. I'll never
grow old, dearest Friend. You taught me not to grow old.
The audience goes quiet now, the passers-by in the
street. No one needs to say it; no one needs to break the silence that
comes for peace of mind. It's been quiet for so long, and I miss you so
very much. I'm just a picture in your world, but this picture is mine and
not yours. Drawn on a simple piece of paper, you may not remember
me at all. That was long ago, when you created, when you were small. You
were my artist; you splattered color on all of the white. Like rain it
all poured down, and like rain it helped life along. I sense you
everywhere I go. Sunshine beams through the green of the trees, washing
golden over the earth, sparkling on the riverbed; it’s your eyes. Nature
speaks with the flutter of wings and the buzz of the bees, the hummingbird
drinks and the wooly bear crawls; it’s you breathing. Shackled to this
cold, bus stop bench, it’s bleak and gloomy, as the paper wrappers and wispy
snow whisper down this road of concrete. Seems I’ve come a long way from
the place where I first knew you. The road doesn’t end, and I see you
less often now. You’ve become less than real, and more than any
dream. It seems that such long and tiresome periods exist to define the
space between our hearts. You don't know me, but I’d like to believe I've
known you. I suppose I’ll never be sure, after all it’s been so
long. I’ll write it in a letter, one I’ve never meant to
send. The boy puts the firefly in a jar, with all the wonder in the world
he watches until its light goes away. If you knew what you were, you would
no longer be what you are. If only the boy knew that the price of his
wonder would be the cost of a life. No, you must never know, my dearest
Friend. I know who you are, and what you’ve been to me. In
relativity I find you, magnificent as the stones on Easter Island. There has
been no sadness like this sadness you have touched me with. The most vast
and immeasurable feeling that I’ve ever had. It spills when I move.
I love you, dearest Friend. With all that I am, I love you.
Spatter
WOW! That is just beautiful......where do you find the words to describe your feelings....please write more
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