A love letter to the enemy.

A Love Letter to the Enemy

With us time doesn’t stop. It doesn’t end. It does not progress or rescind. It revolves.
It circles and rotates around the centre of anguish. If the muses were still alive they would sings songs about our lives. About your life and my life. For us there is only the season of sorrow. Outside it might be gold and clear. Inside there is perpetual bedlam and strife. There is a pulsating inside, not unlike the painful throbbing you feel when you are hurt or cut or wounded. I am. Hurt. Cut. Wounded
I ran into you. I ran into you and you changed my life. Not in a good way. I was fifteen. A ripe age for you to pick.

Before we went to war you had already won. You had won six years ago. You are, in certain ways, still winning. I gave you everything I had kept and then gave you everything that I had left. And you took. Took. Took.  And still wanted more. It would be criminal of me to suggest that I didn’t ask for anything back. I asked for a little part of your spirit, your essence, your smell and stored it in the treasure-house of my heart. I embalmed it with myrrh, frankincense and my tears. Tears, too, are sacred- how I wish you had realized that. I thought you told me you could turn mine into pearls. You did. But they were pearls before a swine. 

Debate became pointless to me – you were always right even when I wasn’t wrong. Philosophy became barren, knowledge profitless, words and sentences of the great minds stuck in my mouth like soot and dry ash.  This was all your doing. Then you did more. Your silent act of love unsealed and liberated me. In the beads of sweat that clung to your skin I could see my reflection. I looked happy.

With you I lived entirely for pleasure. I shunned sorrow and remorse. They became strangers to me. They were about me in the faces around me. Yet I was Invictus. You were the rain, you were the sun. I needed both because I needed you. I knew then how to be happy or rather Happiness became instinctual. Continuous. Constant.
 People Judged me.
 People must judge me.  In the way that I act. In the way that I am. In the way that I love. They  judged my act of love.

Without you Life has come to be a dilemma for me. But as you most certainly know I have always been a Dilemma for Life. Life will give up. Until then I wish to spend my existence amongst people who share the same spirit as I do, whose essence is akin to mine; I want to live amongst artists and sufferers; those who have known Beauty and those that have known Grief.

Now, distance makes me a pariah. You and I are in a different place; separated, Isolated. I more than you.  Do not tell me it is morality that has kept you away from me. Morality does not help me. I am one of those who are made for exceptions, who don’t fall neatly between the margins. I stand for the exceptions and not the laws.

You must be getting curious as to the point of my writing this. Anything can be made pointless. You taught me that.