Posthumously Yours.

Letter 4 - Idyllic Impetus

Dear Damien,

Sonder. I confess I was surprisingly touched by your letter on it. It is indeed remarkably stimulating how many people's lives one is part of. From your very best friends to that suspicious looking stranger you passed by a while back you are in a way a necessary fragment of the billions of people whose lives your own coincides with, however small your fractional contribution to your encounter is.

Last night I dreamed, Damien. I dreamed of a world with no redundant complications, I dreamed of a world without a dead boy professing his posthumous love for me.I dreamed of an existence wherein I do not slowly fall for some one who is no more. I hoped for a world where I do not see myself irrevocably fall in love with a dead you, Damien.How wretchedly silly I am indeed to hope for what is to never be.

Woe unto my hopeful, sanguine heart for you, my dear, are gone for all eternity.

If you were still here, if your heart were still beating in that slow and steady rhythm I was so unsure of, If the world was still privileged by your even breaths, if your honeyed words that I'd never heard, but had always yearned for still echoed in my mind, and if your mellow, beatific smile were still radiant as ever, only then would I be content. Only then would this crumpled yellow paper, not bare the brunt of the stains. The stains formed of the tears I shall never be able to take back. The tears that shall only completely let go of me if you come back, an event which is tragically impossible.

I must learn to let go of all these dismal, melancholic thoughts. I must tell about my impetus. Impetus, I find the very word strangely mesmerizing. An impetus, a driving force, a propulsion to set something into motion. Something that motivates you, drives you and in a very affirmative manner forces you into doing something beneficial. An impetus is something your entire existence is surrounded around. It is something which invades you every wakeful thought, every emotion and every action. The only anomaly, however is when there is no momentum to it.

This occurs to you in that one surreal moment when you realize that there is nothing you can do to relieve the only impetus which propels you. You are left, stranded in the lone awareness that there is no approach, no goal, no destination, no consequence and of all, no solution. It is humanly impossible to either resolve your impetus or let it take leave of you. It is a mystery that puzzles you and makes you ponder day in and day out,every single nanosecond of your life.

You are my impetus and my only driving force, dear Damien, and I know not how to bring you back.

Yours sentiently,

Lilith