Saturday, October 20, 2012

Dear Star,

"You-Who-is-anything-but-Mundane....."like Heaven wrapped around me..."

On a cleaning spree today. I am guilty of being a hoarder of sentiments. Under my bed was a shoe box full of love letters. One even contained a card with pressed flowers (Circa 2005. wow). The good thing is that as much as I lament the lost art of letter writing among my peers, I at least at one point did get some of the best love letters that a young idealistic girl could get. He was a great writer (and I hope he hasn't stopped), and I got the core of it; silly poems, passionate confessions, and sorrowful yearnings. We were each other's first love and he was the type that was so unawares of his own charms, closing his eyes right when the shutter clicked, the moment forever caught on his college ID card. The relationship was magical in its innocence, traumatizing in its destruction, almost detrimental in the lasting impressions that was made.

We all show love in our own way. For him it was through words and writers like to equate the words that we birth onto paper like parts of our souls. We have a tendency to over dramatize & embellish. For all their worth, the words ended up more flimsy than what they were written on.

Some show their love through tangible acts. And as I got the latter in a much healthier relationship I couldn't forget the former. I couldn't feel affirmation like I had in those letters. Maybe I put too much stock in words. Parole. That Italian song. "Words. Just words."

But to a writer words and sentiments are everything.






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