Dear Sweet Child O'Mine,
From the deep dark sea I hail you. I'm spending the last breath I have in frail attempt to join you voice. The voice of the woman I admired. The woman that almost swept me off my strong steady legs. Do you recognise my voice? Do you recognise my words? The words of someone you once labeled a poet. Do you see my reasoning? The reasoning of a man you once looked upon as an Engineer...Now this man is a cliché....speaking of which, French is also something thrown awy in this box. Now my dear sweet child, and from the very top of my lungs, I squeeze out my throat and choke my own voice, sparing you my last breath, telling you faintly from behind the thick walls of the box that I'm but a piece of lead...to be sunk down the vast deep dark ocean...and to be lost forever, like a undoing an evil cast. Like driving a wooden stake through the heart of a Nosferatu, or shooting a werewolf with silver bullets.Let your faith be thy wooden stake, and my your most noble qualities be the silver bullets...for the monstrous creature is now being torn apart. Exploded. Burnt into ashes through the inferno of your honesty.Let me die, dissapear, sunk down deep, as I pray by the light of moonlight silvering the dark sea horizon.Let my ashes rot down the deepest pits of Hedes, as that very box hits the God-forsaken sea bed, and may it stay there, un-noticed by time.
As always you have left me speechless. The poet has always out shined the little girl.
It has taken my days to think of a reply. And eventually I didn’t find anything to write. I am still speechless, but I decided to share some of my cluttered thoughts.
First, thanks for writing. You know how much I love reading you. I never had enough and I guess I will never have enough.
I guess I am feeling speechless because your words were intended for the woman. Or may be I wanted them to be intended for the woman because only the woman can find some proper words to reply. May be the woman is the one who might find some comfort knowing that the man is just a piece of lead to be drowned in the deep dark sea.
For me the man is the same man, the poet, the voice and the engineer were only some of the faces I loved. The man didn’t lose any of his faces. The man is still the man the only thing that changed is my angle of perspective. I still love the poet, miss the voice and admire the engineer but something has changed. I guess something essential was lost. The woman packed the “like” in her big black box changing my angle of view and filtering the faces I see through the friend screen. So when I love the poet, I love the friend. When I miss the voice, I miss the friend and when I admire the engineer I am admiring the friend. The man didn’t change, and I didn’t change only the medium changed.
I know that these cluttered thoughts seem irrelevant. But it is one of the few times I can’t put my thoughts in words.
Thanks again for giving me the chance to enjoy reading you.
You said that my silence is a reply. So add this to silence and tell me what did you get :)