Letters of Old

A Letter to Lois

   
   
City of --, Country of --.
-th of August, Year 20--.

   
Clive,

    "I shouldn't have said that. So do leave me. I'm thankful it's into your hands I fell. Most men would have reported me to the Dean or the Police."

    Okay? Is this how you'd reassure everything that has happened that night? I'm awefully sorry and still be weakened when reminded by it. But here you are making a jest out of it. Seriously, who's older between the two of us. Grow up!

    But if you meant for this as a genuine and an odd way of saying that everything is fine, that your mind is at peace and your feminity is not tainted with disgust of me, then I oblige you of 'duly received and appreciated' note. But you already know what's coming.

     "The best classical scholar of his year."

    Is this really how you would out yourself as the narcissistic one in the party? Since I can't help but be reminded of all your accomplishment in this book. Oh globber! I have done it now. You must be in histerics now and act condescending in our next meeting.

    Woman of letters; won't you read to me, next time my head lies comfortably in your lap, the stories I'm sure you've piled up now.

    "Look at that picture, for instance. I love it because, like the painter himself, I love the subject. I don't judge it with eyes of the normal man. There seem two roads for arriving at Beauty — one is in common, and all the world has reached Michelangelo by it, but the other is private to me and a few more. We come to him by both roads. On the other hand Greuze — his subject matter repels me. I can only get to him down one road. The rest of the world finds two."

    Kind of like how our painted-self camouflage to the tone of the background to befit situations. Aren't we more affectionate of each other in letters, nor ashamed to voice it out- we are even both unaware of how we go back and forth of our own pigments. From a brotherhood that silently vowed to never be sentimental within each other's presence and now into humane confidants. We are weird, 'odd' as what you'd always say. Kind of like how you said on the day we've first met. Of you being 'dull and ordinary' in your backdrop, but not so in mine. You've clearly established this long standing opinion of mine on that night; when imperfection, which surrounds me, was made beautiful when you've given it your own impression. Kind of like Michaelangelo. That night I couldn't be more at peace and content cause I have known a secret which the world might never know. That is why it made me realise that my world too- you and Ada, and Cleto should know that there is one private road to the world which no eyes of a normal man can behold.

    Coming out is not really a thing I'd consider doing in this lifetime. I've contented myself with the love and care of my sister, Cleto, and the acquiescence of my mother. I've contented myself that I have everything; what use would it be then to out myself? When it would largely be the cause of the wreckage in my family. But you gave me the notion of more, maybe I could be more. You did not only made my forbearance bearable; but unknowing as you've always been, have also given me the pass to explore new horizons- as what you've always done by simply reading a new story to me.

    How could I not be engrossed with this book? When it's my dear Durham that made it posssibly so.

    Should I call you Clive now?

    I still think you're Jo March though! If you'd only let me!
   
   

    PS.
        I hope I have not inflated your ego too much. Deflate it back for me will you?
   
   

   

   
I; whose pancreas you've wished to possess,
Christian