Monday, October 06, 2003

You know what? I need to write you this letter. Cause the conversations in my head are just not making any sense. Call it catharsis if you will, but seeing something on paper seems to finally reign it into reality. And you no doubt must have recognized yourself as audience by now. How have you been and what have you been thinking? I must admit I am irreparably curious. Not because I want to pry, but just because I get bored of my life over and over again. It no doubt is an interesting life and I try to keep it on that minimum threshold, but most times I have a low patience quotient and some very few rare times, the effort is godawful draining.

Are you intrigued, surprised, provoked, irritated? Yet? Maybe it's all that talk about me. Let's talk about you instead. I like you. I really do. Your first redeeming feature is of course that you are human. That solves a lot of stuff really, which basically means that you cannot be all bad. And you really have a wonderful smile, When you choose to smile as opposed to smirk. When it reaches your eyes, to use an old cliche. It's sunny and impish and wicked and warm. And it makes me want to laugh with you. And then there's your incredibly unique way of looking at the world of course. In a way that only you can. The way you love the lights and the speeds and the noise and the rubber that screeches on the roads of your sight. And that languid walk that I could make dinner of. I do not much care for the sights and sounds and I walk really fast. Else this could have been a love story you know. As could any other.

And it seems like you do not want to tell me the stuff that you have given away. And I don't even know if what you've given away is what I have inadvertently eavesdropped upon. And hence we live on in terror of the ears in the walls and the eyes in the skies. And shut our mouths when we should sing and bind our feet when we should dance.

This might yet be a story you know...
Perfection comes addended with an 'else'
Someone else...
Somewhere else...

Have I stopped trying or have you stopped marking my papers? I still write them and hold them up for your inspection. But I've forgotten who you are. Either that or they appointed somebody else. Because the faces are blurred. And the lines grainy. And the process undefined. My brains are thoroughly muddled. Reading about class, race, culture and crap. It's making sense though. As does crap.

I do not know why I put that much worth on knowing you! Is it the curiosity, the potential, the desperation or the hunch? That one spark of limbo in memory, that one tantalising, edge-of-the-seat millisecond of juvenile, hormone-driven rush of blood, the single blast of sound that threatens to escape my throat and cut through the night sky...un momento...