Dearly Beloved X - Good-Bye...

XXX. XX, XXXX

Dearly Beloved,

          I prayed, begged, pleaded, and even bargained with God that this letter would never reach your hands. The reality is, this is in your hands and nothing can change that now. Not anymore. If you're reading this, then you must know that I'm not here anymore. I won't be coming back.

          I hate to leave you and the children like this - so abruptly that their lives and yours are jarred, shattered. The worst of it all is that you'll be left alone to pick up the marred pieces. All I can say is I'm sorry - I'm sorry to leave this world prematurely; I'm sorry to be the cause of so much grief, strife, and bitter tears to you, my wife, my one and only; and I'm sorry that our kids won't grow up with me guiding and nurturing them to help them reach their highest potentials in this life. But these apologies won't bring me back, nor mend your broken hearts. 

          Though we've been together for over a decade, it felt like lives have just begun. We've yet to really live life. We've seen ourselves grow from passionate, impetuous lovers akin to teenagers to steadfast husband and wife to becoming something we believed we could never be - loving parents. And it hasn't been easy. We both made mistakes, fell short of expectation, and ended up hurting each other. But the hurts we've endured allowed our love to blossom, and that very same love is what defined us, what held us together when we were too close to being torn asunder. I hope all these letters I've written all these years reflect that. Even this letter, although this is the only letter I don't want you to read.

          As I sat here, in my bland hospital room, all I could I think about was just how much I wished I had more time to spend with you. It seems that with all the time we've spent together, no amount of time will ever feel sufficient. There was always time for spontaneous dancing, walks across the park, romantic dates, and converging our bodies into a mesh of warmth. All the time in the world could never satisfy these undisclosed desires. Yet, the hollow, monochromatic whispers extinguish any hope of having these experiences again. There is still so much that I want to do with you. I want to be perpetually lost in your green eyes - they remind me of vast fields of grass, untouched by humanity. Perfect and pure. I want to embrace you dearly in my arms, to feel our beating hearts clash together, for as long as I can. I want our separate bodies to become one again behind closed doors, if only temporarily, and spend the rest of the night in conversation, blurring the space between the two worlds of illusion and reality. I want our supple lips to connect and convey a simple message too complicated for spoken words. If only I could re-experience these things, and much more, with you once again.

          Finally, there is just one more thing left to say. I know you may not agree with me on this at the moment, but I know that you would feel the same about this as well. Whenever you are ready, I want to you move on in life. I am confident that there will be another person in this world will help you feel complete again. I want you to be happy. All I ask is that this person help raise our children to be strong and healthy. I know that Julia, and perhaps Lucas, will someday understand this circumstance, but I can't say the same for Matthew and Claire. So when our children are of age, please show them all the letters I've written to you. Help them see that our time together was special, unique, romantic, and memorable. I hope our children will comprehend just how much I cherished you all, loving you dearly with all my heart, through these brief glimpses of the past. Also, please help them understand that our lives were meant to be intertwined temporarily, and that my departure was anything by voluntary.

          In the end of it all, I was blessed to have you as my best friend, as my beloved wife, and venerable mother to our children. Living my life with you by my side was an adventure, full of intrigue and surprise. What we have experienced together will forever be irreplaceable. No amount of fabricated words can ever surmize our life together.

                                                   With a love that will echo throughout the ages,

                                                                                                                 James

Dearly Beloved IX - Museum

          September 30, 2021

Dearly Beloved,

          I can't sleep. I can't shift my body to rest comfortably. The little lights that flicker are friendly strangers, faintly illuminating my bland surroundings. These lights emit bizarre, foreign sounds. They rhythmically mock the beating of my heart. I can just form the vessels and wiring that crawl across my body. If I can't see them, then I can feel them digging and piercing the surface of my skin. This false tranquility is shattered by my amplified senses, save for my eyesight. My fingertips feel every groove, bump, and subtle thread of these coarse sheets; my nose breathes in fresh clean oxygen, free from the stains of Nitrogen, Hydrogen, Carbon Dioxide, and other pollutants; my ears hear everything: the robotic sounds, the scuffles my body makes, the obscure boom of my heart; my mouth tastes the stale, sanitized hospital air; and my eyes, in this shadowy darkness, forcefully morph these protruding tentacles and the name on my wrist. Sunderland? That can't be right. So what is my name? Why am I here? How did I end up here? Why couldn't this be prevented? Why does the hospital make everything so frightening and serious? It's only been several nights, but I'm terrified. I've never felt so isolated, vulnerable. I've cried so much these past few days. I want it to stop. I wish you were here with me, at this moment. Perhaps you can help me piece together...

          "Do you know the best part about museums? They record time. They are the doors to the past, portraits to the present, and windows to the future. Did you know that?" I still remember those words you said all those years ago. You were 20 at the time, and I was almost 22. That was our first date, do you remember? There were many things that I remembered about that day. I remember that the sky was gloomy, cloudy and grey, but we cherished it dearly. I remember just how bright your green eyes became as the tram lethargically edged toward our destination. I remember how my heart would skip a beat whenever our knuckles gently nudged together. I remember the unbound fascination you expressed with each exhibition we thoroughly examined, whether they were ancient or modern. Unfortunately, there are also things that I can't recall. I can't remember the exhibitions we admired with open minds. I can't remember how our date began or how it came to an end. I can't remember those snippets of awkward conversation we had to endure and the moments of comfortable silence we wished would last much longer. Perhaps, at best, some of these murky moments should be forgotten, but they are my memories with you and I cherish them nonetheless. You were right all along: the museum can be a door to the past. I just didn't think it'd be ours.

          These early memories of us wouldn't have surfaced if we hadn't revisited that same museum recently. Only we weren't college students, but married with children. Yet, entering those thick glass double-doors had metamorphosed us into our youthful college selves once more. Your green eyes shone brightest with anticipation as the tram lethargically edged forward to our destination. As we ventured throughout the museum, our hearts raced as our knuckles bumped, and as our hands eventually found themselves clasped together. You still spoke with much command and fervor, allowing us to enter through doors to the past and peer through the windows of a future unknown. Even with our children here with us, we still managed to share a comfortable silence together.

          I never realized how much Julia and I have in common, just as much as you and Lucas do as well. Just like me, Julia was fascinated with the natural sciences and history, especially with dinosaurs. Her tiny hazel eyes were filled a bewildered reverence for the titans. She told me she wanted to be a dinosaur hunter when she grows up. Her favorite dinosaur is the Brontosaurus, because it didn't eat people and she would climb its neck to reach the cookie jar whenever we wouldn't be around. She told me they would be best friends forever.

          As she led me through the exhibition, I began to notice how tiny her hands are. She still couldn't wrap her fingers around one of mine, and it made me smile so much. Occasionally looking back to check up on you and the kids, I noticed something bizarre about you and Lucas: you both had that same bored expression on your faces. Little would I know Julia and I would do the same as little Lucas and yourself would race across several exhibitions, attempting to see as much as possible, be it art, sculpture, and relics of the past. Up until our trip, I never thought I'd be able to connect with Julia, but I can see that I'm wrong. I now know what to do for our play dates from now on.

          It's amazing, isn't it? How much a simple trip to the museum can reveal so much about our family? And this one day was exactly one week before my hospitalization and exactly two months after being diagnosed with Leukemia. That day now feels so distant, like a lucid dream manifested in reality. Languished in obscurity. Drowned in anxiety. This recent memory has become a quantum of solace, amidst foreign territory. As the tiny lights create menacing shadows, my thoughts turn to you and the family. I don't know what will happen; all I know is that I'm not alone: we're all in this together. And you will be here, supporting me.

                                                                With a love that will never forget,

                                                                                                     Your Lover

Dearly Beloved VIII - Twilight

          August 31, 2020

Dearly Beloved,

          Being bed ridden this past week or so has been a frustrating experience. The grogginess, the pulsating pain searing through flesh and bone, the nonproductive hours. I know I should be resting, but I just can't. I'm weathered, weary, and exhausted of this predicament. From time to time, I manage to feel my way to the bathroom. In an instantaneous flash, I'm bathed in fluorescent lighting. I wash the sleep off my eyes to take a better look at myself upon the mirror: eyes are red and stare complacently into my reflection; whiskers of facial hair are here and there; the bags under my eyes have gotten more conspicuous; my hair is matted, disorganized. In short, I'm a mess, and I'm apathetic to fix myself up. I also still have that palpable scar that's on my left eyebrow and the faint, thin scar across my right cheek, my "childhood treasures". My forehead is smaller and my lips are thinner than what I once believed. I have to wonder: When was the last time I really looked at myself in the mirror? It is late, it is early, and now is not the time to be awake. So I return to bed quarantined, exiled from the world for possessing a pseudo-deadly illness.

          We always did our best to offer much needed support to each other, even if it meant that the other was risking his health. It always made our illnesses much easier to manage. It allowed us to talk, to reminisce, and to reflect. Sometimes, I found myself wanting to get sick just to have more time together. A more softer, vulnerable side of us exposed itself  when we would talk. It's almost as though we're reliving our college years for that moment in those moments. We were insecure of our lives and futures, as though it all rested on a flip of a coin rather than discipline, planning, and education. This time, however, is an exception, especially with Claire and Matthew due very soon. You don't want to risk any complications, and I understand. I want what is best for them, too, even if it means enduring this illness alone, trapped in this comfortable prison that is our master bedroom. 

          I don't know how I did it, but I managed to muster enough strength to peer through the window. What I saw welled up emotions within me and I couldn't help but gently weep. I saw the most heavenly sunset: the vast ocean of sky, a sleepy amber, splotched with hints of violets, blues, and reds, becoming more evident the further it is away from the sun; the sun itself, a delicate orange, sits on the horizon, if only for a moment; and the clouds, puffy balls of cotton, hang impeccably across the twilight sky. It was one of those moments where I wished to escape, with you by my side. All I could think about was spending this sunset with you alone, atop a gentle hill, and be amazed by this simple gift of life itself. But I'm here, sick and tired and helpless, and you're too distracted to notice what is above us. It's sad, isn't it? So, will you do me a small favor?...

...Will you watch the sky for me?...

...As though the sun will crawl across the sky for a final time?...

...Will you allow precious memories of our time together come cascading back?...

...Do you remember the times we...

...And all the times we...

...And should have...

....And were going to...?...

...I know...

...Will you watch the night?...

...As a blanket of little lights cover and lull the madness of this world into a slumber...

...If you believe in that sort of thing...

...And know that I'll always be with you, in starlight...

                                                                With a love that will never get sick,

                                                                                                       Your Lover

Dearly Beloved VII - Trust

July 24, 2019

Dearly Beloved,

          The four of us spending time together as a family (though Lucas isn't here just yet, he's still part of the family) at our beloved city park has been the recent highlight of my day in recent weeks. Our leisure time together has really ebbed away much harbored pressure from work. These lulled moments of ours remind me why I endure the demanding hours, the inexorable demands, and the complacency of the work environment. The more I remember these convictions, the more I feel as though I'm slipping in between the space of two worlds of work and family. Life just seems to move on without me; Julia has learned to walk and is now learning to communicate with the adults around her. Lucas is perpetually growing, developing, and perhaps even anticipating his departure from the womb. Then, there's you. As much as I hate to confess it, you don't seem so familiar to me at the moment, even though you're my wife, my best friend, and the mother of my children. So why do you seem so distant? So foreign to me? Just what the hell happened? Am I worried? Just a little bit. Am I afraid? Not at all.

          You see, years ago, I accidentally stumbled upon a beautiful Japanese tale - of danger and peril, of trust and friendship. It's a simple short story of a cursed boy, exiled to a forbidden castle by his village, fearing that the curse will cause harm to the village. Though the boy was imprisoned inside the castle, he manages to escape his confines and begins exploring the castle for a way out. Upon further exploration, he finds a captivated girl, harassed and chased by shadowed creatures, which makes their escape that much more desperate. The two eventually reach the castle's main gates, with the drawbridge extended to the main land. However, the castle's queen, who revealed herself to be the girl's mother, prevents the pair from leaving the castle by recapturing her daughter and sending the boy to his presumed death by knocking him off the bridge (he only lost consciousness as he fell down to the castle's lower levels). The boy struggles to climb back up to the main castle to find the girl again. Along the way, he discovered the magical sword that served as the key to the castle, and as the bane to finally subdue the shadow creatures. Eventually, the boy finds the girl, though she's petrified, and proceeds to find the queen. After a brief exchange of words, the queen reveals that she dealt in the dark arts, using former prisoners to extend her life (the shadow creatures encountered in the castle were the remains of those prisoners) and now plans to use her daughter to start a new life for her own. After a lengthy conflict, the boy was able to defeat the queen for the sake of girl, but with the queen's death, the castle begins to crumble. He loses consciousness from the falling debris, and the girl carries the boy to a small boat underneath the castle. Though she makes certain that he will be safe, she makes the sacrifice to stay behind, along with the descending castle. Finally, the boy reawakens, washed upon a sandy shore. After a brief search, the girl is also found, safe and sound.

          What makes this simple story engrossing is that this story doesn't progress conversationally. In fact, a language barrier exists between both the boy and girl, so the story unfolds through the details of their actions, their surroundings, and the constant, looming danger that the shadows pose. The beauty of this story is that the boy and the girl establish and build their friendship through the simple gesture of holding hands. It's greatly emphasized in harrowing moments where the pair must split up, and even more so when the girl was at the mercy of those creatures from time to time. And no matter where they went throughout the castle, the girl always trusted in the boy in the paths he took, trusting that he will get them closer to the exit, even though at times they had to backtrack in order to move on.

          Somehow, I can't help but sense that our friendship parallels theirs: the sense of adventure, the unspoken bonds, persistent dangers that that strive to tear everything apart. Furthermore, I am absolutely confident that even if we didn't understand each other, if we shared a language barrier of our own, it would not matter. If our life together could be played back to us like a silent film to the soundtrack of our lives, it would be evident that our love is much deeper that what it seems right now. Those calm afternoons, the spontaneous kisses, the rich laughter, those subtle tears, our hearty embraces, our intimacy, our daydreams, fantasies, and illusions. It's there! It's this self-evident truth that dispels any hints of fear and insecurity within me. We communicated so much more by our gestures, our hands, our bodies in ways our spoken words, or even these lengthy letters of mine, can ever express. But of course this doesn't mean we don't need to talk. Of course we do. We were always each other's ears, able to calmly listen to our expressions of frustration, hopes, and opinions. Honestly, I love the sound of your voice, soft and sweet whenever you sing to Julia and Lucas, so heavenly as you hum peacefully to yourself. I'm simply worried that we'll drift apart, becoming strangers in each other's lives, in our marriage, and in our family. I don't want that for us.


                                                              With a love of an unspoken bond,

                                                                                                   You Lover

Dearly Beloved VI - Reminisce

June 8, 2018

Dearly Beloved,

          I can't recall the last time we relaxed, having that rare moment of peace, when we simply let the world gently pass us by. Unfortunately, our dear beautiful baby, Julia (didn't I say it was the perfect name?), has been inexorably demanding since we brought her from the hospital six months ago. We've been taking turns tending to her, desperate to assuage her piercing cries for attention or food. I can't tell which is which anymore. The blurs of night and day, the demands of life, and the insanity that weighs heavily on our minds, desperately fighting to not be overwhelmed by it, almost reached its climax. Until it all receded. Little Julia somehow managed to find solace in our circus known as our family, and sweet relief extinguishes all the frustrations that have cascaded over the lengthy months.

         Having you gently resting on my shoulder and Julia sleeping in tranquility in her bassinet nearby turned my thoughts to our youthful, mellow afternoons we would share together. I remember spending those days on the front porch of your house, rocking peacefully on the bench. There were days when I couldn't help trace the broad and defined creases embedded on your soft palms. Every now and then, I would pretend I was your personal fortune-teller. Do you remember that game of ours? I remember tracing your love, life, and the other major lines, eventually conjuring a fortune after much divination. No matter how many times we played this silly game, I always ended up using the same hand again and again. However, the premonitions revealed weren't as consistent as the lines in your palm.

          Some days were blessed  with great fortune, longevity, and ease in your life. With these, your green eyes grew brighter, your smile wider, and your laughter so rich with joy, eagerly anticipating the future. These fortunes made you happy, spending the rest of the day daydreaming of a life so different from the one you're in. Some days, however, were cursed - your life ravaged in poverty, hardship, and a precocious end to your life. With these, your eyes would lose their luster and become marred with subtle tears. You would edge closer, inexorably clinging onto my arm. Sometimes, you'd plant a soft kiss on my cheek. These omens never frustrated you at all. They unfortunately filled your heart with a deep sadness, knowing that our time together is finite. No words are exchanged - only the faint buzzing of cars in the distance fills the empty space between us.

            With you nestled calmly on my chest, I cautiously fidget, trying to reach your hand. For a quick moment I thought I had provoked you, but you simply shifted your weight, and it became much easier to hold your hand. Like I did years before, I began to trace those very same lines of your smooth palm, conjuring new fortunes that I'm hoping to share with you when you're awake. You smile and softly giggle, as though you're aware of your hand being played with. You shift your weight again, and your arms tightly embrace me. I lean over gently and plant a small, palpable kiss on your cheek. With that, I return your warm embrace and peacefully doze off.




                                                With a love that will never have a bad fortune,

                                                                                                        Your Lover

Dearly Beloved V - Night

May 02, 2017

Dearly Beloved,

           I nearly called you tonight, can you believe it? It's been a difficult couple of days lately and being trapped in this hotel room isn't helping me. I was hoping you would hear me out, listen to me, and urge me to keep going. If not for me or for you, then at least for her, even though she's not here yet. It's been only three nights, but being distracted by meetings, lunches, people who think they matter, networking, and this week-long business expo have dragged these few days to months. It's been only three nights and I miss you dearly. I miss sharing the bed with you, feeling your warmth, your silky hair, your hand in mine, and feeling the life that our love has created growing inside you. Even now, my eyes are heavy, and sighs deep, but I can't detach myself from my body. It's only been three nights...

          I can't remember the last time I've been up this late. Being conscious and awake at this hour reminds me so much of our reckless past, of those long nights when the our side of the world was in slumber, but we rebelled and went against the natural order of sleep. Our nights became days and the days were our nights. Do you remember the times we would meander throughout the city in the night? We would frequently see our lively bustling city metamorphose into something deathly frightful, something we couldn't quite understand. Thus, we were adamant to face this monster, to conquer it and tame it. We've soon discovered that it was misunderstood, and, like its daytime doppelganger, it offered of a myriad of secrets, each one just waiting to be discovered. Our dusky enemy eventually became our friend and we embraced him in a way we couldn't with his alter ego. I miss spending those nights awake together. I wonder if the night feels the same about us.

             It's getting late now, and I should be sleeping. I've got a long day ahead of me tomorrow (or should I say, today), but I'll make sure to drop this letter off at a post office. I know it'd be easier for me to scrap this letter, to simply give you a call at the earliest opportunity to talk to you, but I'd regret doing so. I've been writing letters to you for years now, it'd be absurd if I began to give up at it now, wouldn't you think so? Well, before I leave, I just want you to know that I'm safe and well, for the most part. I can't say the same for my state of mind at the moment. Between the mind-numbing corporate meetings and branch networking and the constant worry for your well-being as well as our baby's (I think I found the perfect name for her), I'm lacking peace of mind I need right now. I'm hanging in there. I just have to endure several more days, that's all.




                                                With a love yearning for night-time escapades,

                                                                                                        Your Lover

Dearly Beloved IV - Past

 April 15, 2016

Dearly Beloved,

           "April showers bring May flowers..." - is that how the saying goes? Still, I can't believe it's Spring again. I'm looking forward to the rains once more. I always have fun whenever we'd traipse about the city in rain. Life just seems more bearable, enjoyable even. Of course, I'm constantly imprisoned in this 5x5 cell of an office cubicle, so what do I know? You'll have to forgive me; I'm feeling quite pessimistic at the moment. I blame the rain for this. You know, for some reason, the rain tends to reveal the worst of people - they are inexorably colder, bitter, impatient. There's seems to be no end to such attitudes. However, I've got someone that won't imitate their attitudes. I've got you. That's all that matters to me right now. In fact, I'm writing this as I work - I have a bit of downtime before things pick up again. By the way, I'm still taking my breaks on the roof, so it'll be interesting to see a more grittier cityscape, don't you think so?

           Of course, it doesn't always rain in April. The warm, golden sun mixed with cool breezes makes for such a perfect blend, creating days that leave an indelible mark on the senses. I'm eagerly waiting for the day that we can share one together. There's an old city park that I want to take you to, the one that I've told you about. I've gone there countless times growing up, but it's been so long since I've been there that I'm not too sure if it'll be recognizable to me anymore. Now that I think about it, I wonder if JB's Burgers can still be found just down the avenue from the park. It's my personal favorite burger joint. You haven't had a burger and a milkshake until you've had them a JB's. I promise you'll love the food there. Oh, then there's Zoltar the Fortune-Teller ("Fortunes for quarters; I love quarters! Give me a quarter and I'll read your palm!")! He's the main attraction over there. By placing your palm on a faux crystal ball, Zoltar would "assess" certain traits (like love, friendship, creativity). It isn't meant to be taken seriously, but somewhere in the labrynth of the mind, you end up doing so. I know I did. At first, I did poorly, and my brothers would tease me about it. It was embarrassing, because my brothers, who were younger than me, fared much better with Zoltar.

           Over the years, however, I didn't improve at all and I became afraid this consistency. Would I someday be able to discover love? Build friendships? Express creativity? At first, I wanted to prove Zolatar wrong, that I can love, that I do have friends, and so on. But somewhere along the years, that reassurance shifted, and I wanted to prove to myself that I was able to. You know, I've never told anybody about this. This was going to be a secret I'd carry to my grave. Of course, it's funny now to see how much I believed in a counterfeit fortune-teller. Nonetheless, that fear was just all too real. And in the end, I like to think that I was able to find peace with myself. I've realized how much just I have accomplished with you by my side and the discoveries of love and life we've made together. I don't need Zoltar or anyone else to tell me that.

            In the end, I don't think I changed much in Zoltar's eyes, and I'm ok with that. I'm simply eager to show you glimpses of my past. More importantly still, I'm waiting for that perfect afternoon to share with you.

                                                               With a love warm as the April sun,

                                                                                                     Your Lover

Dearly Beloved III - Dream

March 27, 2015

Dearly Beloved,

           In a couple of days, it will become our three-year anniversary, and I am, shamefully, surprised that we made it this far. After all, nobody ever commits for a year these days, let alone for three. So, instead of having a cheap and tawdry celebration, let's go all out! Let's spare no expense! Three years in this modern age is like a lifetime in the older days. So why not? I know how we'll celebrate - the idea popped in my head when I visited the city park earlier this afternoon.

          Today I was given only a half-day of work, a rare occasion, as you and I both know. At first, I was eager to go to our home, prepare a small meal, with music playing in the background, and slumber the afternoon away. However, as soon as I stepped inside our vacant house, something didn't feel right. Our home was missing something. It was missing you. Thus, our tiny home, our one safe hedge from the dangerous world, became a cavernous castle. Every room transfromed into a labrynth, a dungeon, a maze. Footsteps echoed vacuously against the tile floors, and I've had enough. I had to get out. I couldn't find the exit. Couldn't find the exit. But I did. Somehow, I managed to escape. Was I afraid? Was I lonely? Perhaps, perhaps not. All I know was that if I didn't leave the house, I probably wouldn't have had that daydream I mentioned earlier. I probably wouldn't even be writing about this at all!

          Now, with wallet, keys and iPod in my pockets (how I managed to find them in my delirious paranoia, I do not know), I set off for a long and much-needed walk in our bustling cityscape. I meandered for a while, and I was given much time, time that I wasn't supposed to have, to appreciate the puffs of clouds in the sky so blue, the light breeze that tugs at my shirt to and fro, and the myriad faces of people that make this city feel so alive and well. I guess spending so much of my week trapped in a 5-by-5 terrazo office crunching numbers makes me miss out on the tiny imperfections and details of the daily life. From tomorrow on, I promise to take more breaks on the roof of my work building, that way I can have clear view of the citycscape below me and the sky so blue above me, and, in the spirit of a New Year's resolution I made two years ago, I will become more aware of what's around me. Though now I'm digressing (and I always am, aren't I?), but you don't mind, do you?

          After pacing along the concrete, I finally reached our city's crown jewel - the memorial park. It's the one place where we can leave the stresses of this world behind in the grey, the one place where romantic fantasies and delusions overtake us, and in the end, we make promises we both are too afraid to commit to. After all, we can't just up and leave everything behind, can't we? Not after we worked so hard to get this far. Still, wouldn't it be nice to run away from it all? I sat in shade nearby the fountain, placed conspicously in the center of the park. Still, thin rays of sun percied the weak canopy of the trees, gently kissing my exposed forearms and face. I really wanted you by my side, sharing this calm afternoon with me.

          Which finally (and I know you've been waiting for this) brings up the daydream. The sky was a clear blue earlier today, did you notice? The clouds above lethargically crawl, leaving faint splotches of shadow across the green acres. The few flowers that aren't marred by footsteps are dancing in the wind. It's peaceful, and I don't want to end. There was a small dandelion beside me and, with amourous feelings building up inside me (I blame the park for this, though, should I be thanking it instead?), I couldn't help but imagine you donning an elegant dress of such warm color, though I think you'll be more divine in appearace with lavender. From there, everything else just fell into place.

         

          We were hosting a small and formal potluck garden party in our backyard, with all 30-something of our closest friends there to celebrate this joyous occassion with us. All of the men looked like penguins, with bow ties, arm cuffs, and small hints of cologne. The women were royalty and goddesses in the flesh, decorated with smooth pearls and luminous jewelry. Each accessory seemed to compliment and accentuate each woman's natural flare and beauty. Robert at first believed this to be a masquerade ("Why am I the only one with a mask?"), but was disappointed when he found it wasn't. Nonetheless, he will wear the mask - as a "conversation starter", he says. And you know it'll be classy when champagne, a string quartet, and chocolate fountains are involved. White Christmas lights hugged every tree in our backyard, and the colored lights zig-zagged across the open sky, latched upon fences and poles nearby. Some Chinese lanterns were hung out spaciously, to set the mood and bring a sense of wonder to our party. Food, enterntainment, and the chocolate fountains were there: our party was ready to begin.

          Some time later, I saw us dancing, or rather, gently swaying to the music that fills the backyard. With my hand on your waist, I pull you in, studying the tiny imperfections of your beautiful face. I couldn't help by smile the most childish smile, a smile that I foolishly let slip into the real world. I lean in, closely, and I whisper gently into your ear.  You laugh so richly for a moment, before you sigh the laughter away. Our hands move, with yours hooking my neck and mine sitting at your waist. We are still swaying, though now the music is now over. The soft buzzing of chatter, harsh clinks of glass, and the occasional crescendo of laughter is now our music. Our foreheads connect and for a moment, your eyes dart from mine. You're not used to seeing me so close without sharing a kiss. Were you blushing? I think you were, and I couldn't help but laugh at this. You laugh as well, and your eyes dart from mine once again, with a subtle bite of the lip. I pull back and place a tender kiss on your forehead. You lean closer and plant a harder kiss on my lips. We both have stopped swaying.

          It's late afternoon now, with the once lively blue sky is now a sleepy amber. The world seems to be slowing down, a moment's respite, before the nightlife rejuvinates the city. I've never seen our city like this and I hope to show you someday. As reluctant I am to leave, I pick myself up, as well as the yellow dandelion that was beside me, and head back home. At the edge of the park, I take one last look. Children's squeals of joy are still filling the air, the splotchy shadows are gone, and the fountain has stopped running for the day. Everything was almost the same as I got here - it's almost as if I was never here at all. It's just the way I like it.

                                             

                                                                    With love that will forever dance,

  

                                                                                                      Your Lover

Dearly Beloved II - Love

Febuary 10, 2014

Dearly Beloved,

          Well, I've written so many letters by now - what's one more? But I don't think I'll ever stop writing - there is just too much to say in so little time. Already, it's been close to two years and still, my heart jumps up to my throat as I write these letters to you. I'm amazed at myself at just how vulnerable I become as I open up and express my love, my gratitude, and the myriad emotions I didn't know I was capable of expressing, especially when I'm so stoic, indifferent, sometimes complacent outside of the paper you now hold in your hands.

            Now, the big day of love will arrive shortly, in several day's time, and what will I do? I briefly close my eyes, and think. Last year, I didn't have this predicament - somehow you took care of it. Now, it's my turn to step up and solve this conundrum. You would think, just from these letters alone, I'd already have the solution. And I do, only it's cliché and I immediately dismiss the idea altogether. In the cliché, I discovered, you always found it dull and cheap (your words, not mine). So I always had to discover original ideas. Well, at least as original as I can be in this modern era ("Everything's been all done before! It's so depressing.").

            Would it be cliché if I made you breakfast in bed? If I stumbled with the morning sun, to prepare a delicious meal, and then juggle it back to our bedroom? Would it be cliché to see you wake up to the aromas of warm food, to see your green eyes caked in sleep, and your crimson lips crack a counterfeit smile? After all, you know that if it came down to it, this would happen. I am a guy first, and a lover second (unfortunately). And would it be cliché if I smiled subtly or even laughed as a morsel of food would spill from your generous lips? Perhaps so, and now that you know this, I know not to do this. I've got to "keep the magic alive", as they always say.

           And in the end, no matter what happens, if my cliché unfortunately becomes reality or if I somehow managed to conjure up a more unique experience, all that matters is that you're with me, by my side. After all, there will be a Valentine's Day a year from now, and there will be countless more to follow after that (unfortunately...).

                                                                                                XOXO,

                                                                                                 Your Lover

Dearly Beloved I - Hope

January 22, 2013

Dearly Beloved,

           New Year's celebrations have come and went - and what's left to do now are to commit to those spontaneous resolutions we tend to keep until the end of January. But still, what new and fresh adventures lie in store for us? Well, I have decided on what resolution I want to keep until the end of January: I want to become aware of what exists around me. I want to learn to absorb the meticulous details of life, like the way you do. I want to take a stand for a cause, like the way you do. I want to look at the bizzarre, the amazing, and the stupefying with long, pensive looks only to falsely exclaim, "This makes perfect sense!", like the way you do.

           I have always admired this in you, did you know? You were always like a surrealist painting, so full of life and intrigue with every stroke of the brush in your canvas of life. By comparison, I always felt more minimalistic, as if there's more to be done, and yet I'm complete as it is. Though I wasn't always aware of this, I don't mind this stark contrast; you always were the better half. But now, it's the new year and I have this inexorable desire to become acclimated with the artistic works of DaVinci, Escher, and Warhol; to recite the poetry of Allighieri, Mandelstam, and Frost; and to photograph life the way you do through your green lenses.

           And in the end, I want to share my newfound discoveries with you. I want to leave an indelible mark on your senses as this year goes by. I want to excite and sedate you; to give you heartbreak and unrequited love; to share the sights these eyes have seen, and take you places you never dreamed possible.

                                           With a love that promises new experiences,

                                                                                               Your Lover

Of Gas Stations and Phone Calls...

"Hello. This is Huntington Mobil - how can I help you?
"Hello? Is this Sebastian?"
"Yes - how can I help you?"
"Is Shaun working right now? Is he there?"
"I'm sorry, but today is his day off. He won't return until tomorrow afternoon. May I ask who is speaking?"
"It's Shirah. I just wanted to hear Shaun's voice one last time. I really miss him and I really miss all of you. You know, I didn't say this before, but seeing you, Shaun, and the others at the station was the best part of my day because I had a chance to see my friends. You know that I don't get out often, but when I did, I always made sure that I'd see you guys over there. Being out here in Colorado has been difficult for me - there is nobody that I can spend time with; nobody to talk to and no one to call a friend. It's been cold and lonely lately. I'm sorry for calling you right now: I'm just feeling a bit weak right now."
"No, it's all right with --"
"You know what was my favorite drink I'd buy when I saw you guys? It was Diet Pepsi. There is something different about the ones you'd sell - it's as if there is flavor in every drop. Or maybe because I was enamored with Shaun whenever I would drink one. I could really use a Diet Pepsi right now, but only from your store - it always did have the most flavor."
She tries to laugh, but it's released forcefully so it quickly dies. She moves on.
"You guys were the only true friends I've ever had and I want you to know that. I promise you: when I return to California in several years' time, I promise that the first thing I'll do is visit you and Shaun and the others at the station and buy a nice, refreshing Diet Pepsi. I love you guys very much. Please let Shaun know that I won't ever forget my love for him. Thank you for being my friend - I won't ever forget you and how nice you've been to me. So good-bye...for now..."

And with that, I hear a soft click, followed by the monotonous dial tone. Unfortunately, because I was in the middle of my work, I didn't feel the gravity of her words until I was able to have some down time to reflect. Since when was she capable of such words? This simple-minded soft and fleshy woman - fat, for those in a hurry - considered me a friend. Was saying hello whenever she visited called being a "friend"? Or treating her with the same indifferent courtesy I did with others called "being a friend"? Or what about - well, you get the idea. Perhaps, in the end, it's best to just play along, to give her this one morsel of human compassion. But I am torn for doing so. Whenever she left our store, we would joke on about her: the way she dresses, or her mother's clownish appearance with the ruby red lips and plastered makeup. Perhaps the biggest joke about her is the fact that she's middle-aged and still lives with her mother! How pathetic is that? I suppose, in fairness, is that she's a little sick in the head. How sick? I don't know. Ask Shaun or Henry, perhaps they know the answer. All I was told is that she's not "balanced" - to put it gently - and I believe them. That and she's easily impressionable. After all, it was love at first sight for her when she met Shaun (just don't bring that up if you decide to talk to Shaun). In short, she's been the butt of our jokes for quite some time now. She is, and I hope always will, be oblivious and naive of our crude entertainment. She must be for her to utter these sincere words over the phone, right? Then why the hell am I so torn about this? I have a suggestion, but brace yourself for you might not like what you're about to read: I have been less than kind to another human being. (NO!) Me? Less than kind? (Preposterous!) Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, but I've got to face the truth and own to my shortcomings. But here is the crux of the matter: do I make amends and seek out a more genuine attittude of  kindness to her? In doing so, I may just become her next "lover", without my say so. Or do I just maintain this status quo, do nothing, and pretend all's alright with the world?