Why I don’t write Love Letters

I had the misfortune of stopping by the “Love Letters” category on this blog yesterday. one fledging letter, written to a girl that I was pretty sure, I had fallen for last year. It didn’t work out of course, but, that was there, and it is hazy and scary and everything all at once. Maybe, that is why I do not write love letters, because I am always vague, and barely, if ever, do I see a person rather than seeing a celestial entity before me, something which encompasses everything for me, philosophy to poetry to science.

I am scared about it really. That is the heart of the matter which beats out in perfect unison to everything. I am scared that some times I would overreach myself and end up hurting someone who is close to me, and some days I am afraid that I will end up hurting someone who is near to me.

Moreover, it is the nature of love for me. The fact that I always see it as a way to deal with my own demons. My love for writing an affront to my demon that is self harming, my love for a person dealing with my demon of loneliness. It gets to me, love is not a problem solver, and you do not end up feeling better just after falling in love. One of the weirdest things in this belief that somehow loving will cure us of our depressions. It doesn’t.
The love letters remain as a reminder of that want, of wanting to solve all our problems in one single way. To solve everything in the world with a person.

No person matches up to that. Love doesn’t do that.

So, yes, though I planned a proposal this valentines, I am giving it up. I am depressed now, I crashed four-five times in two weeks and I habe no way to get out of that. So, yes, I am giving up. I am sorry that I have to…

 

 

 

 

 

To be lonely among a Crowd

The heart of the matter lies in the middle of nowhere, the place is there but, I cannot see it yet. Her lips are still red from last night’s kiss, my lipstick hasn’t faded away. She lies jaded among the roses I have made to fall upon our bed. Am I lost in space yet or am I just here laying beside her? Yet, she smiles, a bit of sunshine amongst the darkness that is our room in the morning. She has been sick for days, perhaps weeks and I have not been bothered to ask after her, and now she is there, lost in outer space as a person who knows and still is not quite there yet. Do you remember how the rain fell S? If so, do you scream out in repentance when it is not falling into your face anymore? Or is it accepted like all things I say are accepted onto the list of things that are not quite there yet.

If romance is a structure that I cannot yet fathom, I would spend it in researching the mysteries that you bring into my life, and if I am just a broken windowpane staring out into the soul of a person you would have been thee stone.

This is sadness.

This permeates the senses, and makes me feel like you are there at this very moment and the very moment I would turn I would see you but, you’re not there. Maybe, this isn’t for you, maybe this is just another vain call to force that I make, and I do not know what love itself is but, the end cause is all the same and love is never quite there yet.

You are everything.