Letters to Life: Letters written to a lost life

Dreams and Memories 3

dear life,
i have become so familiar with the feeling of being distant from myself that now i am scared of my own reflection staring back at me through the mirror.

i was not sure if i desired for the waves of feelings to survive an eternal frost in my heart or to drown me in them and sweep me along. now i have reached the deep ends of their hazards. simultaneously, a frost is freezing my melting soul into a haphazard shape with dents in my favourite parts.

does it happen to you too, that a crowd of desperate words forms a maelstrom in your throat? do your words, too, pop up, slowly, one after another, on the tip of your tongue, but then get settled there, unsaid, forever?

what happened to that rose from that old, ripped diary? what happened to those seashells in the pot beside the window? what happened to that wooden cot we rocked our dreams in?

have you already released the butterflies of memories from the realm of your mind? has my image not flashed through the tattered windowpane of your longing even once? has the once lively fragrance of love died down in the coffin of despair?

do you remember the rusted swing, besides a broken one, on which we used to spend our evenings together at the center of the park? do you remember how the eastward winds used to gently blow my hair over your face? i remember that candyfloss taste on your lips. do you still remember that humming tune? do you remember the unforgettable fresh smell of watered gravel sand during the early summers there?

i wish to retrace my footsteps to the serenity of that park again. sometimes i wish to dissolve the taste of that candyfloss on my tongue again. sometimes i wish to stop at my shadow and make some confessions. i wish to brood over the circumstances of different fates and sometimes, only sometimes, i wish we had never met, had never been together, had never done the things we did.

but sometimes it seems that whatever has happened, it was meant to be. it seems that the promises were meant to bend, that the twist in our destinies was a necessity. love was a necessity and separation was a necessity too. so was this distance.

accepting the heterogeneous flaws in the vestal perfection.