...beneath these tragic waves
: musings : past : etch : others : speak : h#umor :
memories rebreathe
May 29, 2001

[Part 1: resurfacing memories] [Part 2: memories rebreathe]
It was cool and quiet that night I held your letter in my hand. When I say "your" letter, I should clarify that I mean a letter which by all definitions belonged to you, even though I was the one who wrote it. It had been long since my tongue had felt your name and, surely, yours mine. It had been long since I sealed that letter. But it, like myself, was yours.

Of all I'd ever meant to say, the most important pieces was captured in that letter. I've had no other way to get them across. My lips become dry when they speak your name; my speech ignorant when it sings your praises. Ever on after our whole became two, I could only stutter over such things in a voiceless whisper.

So the letter became my voice. Your letter, which would never see its owner, became my song. It carried a heavy burden. Such ideas of love. Truthful pleas for forgiveness. For foolish ignorance.

Within moments of release, other letters were remembered. Such that they can be called at least, scribbled in person hastily on cheap napkins. Scribbled because they were too hard to speak when under that gaze. The gaze that no longer saw what it once did. No longer seeing one they loved, or once loved, but rather one they simply used to know. The eyes hinted at it, the silence confirmed it.

Then it found its way into a pocket rather than to you for fear of rejection. Then onto a table, where it was covered with dust until the time was right. Often it was watched from the corner. The time was never right. Then later it found its way to the fire and to the wind, taking with it the love that was poured into it. Perhaps enough, but never allowed the chance, to change what was at least this one time. And for a brief moment, change was in the air. Then it was gone.

(A bit of inspiration comes from the latest of Hush. Often I've thought to join such groups to provide myself with not only inspitarion, but interaction. Yet who knows if I'd have the discipline?)

"amissio"

devolve | evolve

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