more letter unsent

Wow. My blood was pumping by the end of that literary experience. By the last line I realized I had read it through at about 1000 milliseconds per word. It reminded me of my first beat poet experience, reading captivated, and frightened, falling back breathless and exhausted from the near sensation of intergalactic space flight. You have a powerful weight of personality, even at 2000 miles out. I hope you enjoy reading this as I do writing it, for what can I say, this renewed correspondence has me enthralled.

We do leave a lot unsaid, in our letters, in any situation. Here writing, I have to pick a direction, find a tangent to go with, choose my next words. Even face to face, often all the things one wants to say fall by the wayside, as one gets caught up in the eyes of another, or something causes one to bite ones tongue so as not to dispel the mystery of not knowing the others reaction to a thought. Is that fear? Do I fear that my words might be too bold and cause you to avoid my inbox? That if I allow my guard down memories and emotions might come crashing back in? If we were face to face how would that be different?

The last time I saw you, you were so guarded, that it was somewhat easier to choose my words, to control my physical being. I don’t think I ventured close to anything on my mind that evening. I could stay my hand from reaching out to touch your cheek, keep my eyes from straying down your curves, only because you demanded it. I think I heard half of what was said that night for the drumming in my veins. I asked you to stay the night, as if to test your guard, to see what lay behind it. You told me you had somewhere to be the next evening, someone to see, like you wanted me to see that you had moved on. You would come to the city to see me once more before I flew. I think I argued feebly, but you were sure and I wanted that so badly. So I waited that night, with my closest friends, my mind elsewhere. But you didn’t come. I guessed whatever you had moved on to kept your mind turned.

So I returned to where I write from, cold, and yes, to answer your hypothetical question, I began seeing people after a while. I don’t feel a thing. Love is something I wish for on everyone. Who knows how to make love stay? Tom Robbins? I live immersed in a culture where lovers cheat, husbands stray, wives find comfort, and everyone smiles at one another the next day. I don’t know how they do it. Yet they seem happy, I hear them laugh a lot. Its honest laughter, that great euphoric kind which make your troubles melt away. Yet they also shoot you for messing with their girl, something that always makes me think twice when I catch some sultry Spanish eyes looking my way.

So there you have it. Those things unsaid. Do I dare send this like it is? I meander back to where I began and smile at those first lines. “…choose my next words”. Or, we can just let them pour out and see where we end up.

Perhaps I too belong to multiple personalities with emotional flashbacks, fears, and dreams.