Love Epistles & Open Journal Entries

Into your palms, I lay my swirling head in desperation once more. On a monotonous day, your presence shines upon me like a reward: blissful and heavenly. For deep below my sorrowful heart, I have longed for you in eternity, and in midst of the mundane mayhem, I will continue to seek clarity in your hazel eyes. I speak your beautiful name under my breath every time I yearn for your warm embrace. They become my soothing tune of melody – rather temporarily. Then, when those tunes become the hymn of the crawdads, realization will hit upon you that I, a figure of an imperfect soulmate, have loved you in this particular way. Yet, the crawdads never sung.

Many say that adoration lingers around much longer than our lifetime; and so, I shall adore you beyond my hours of death.

Every stroke, every scrape of ink, every flick of the hand, I have poured onto you, none other than my loving devotion. My surroundings were dim, but only with the thought of you, I am able to feel the brightest of the blinding fire inside. The sole reason why, I have written to you, for I have no sense of happiness without the fire.

Whether that fire shall consume me or not, is something for you to notice. Have you noticed, how the ink thinned midway because I often ran out of them? Have you noticed, how I always end my writings with a little heart? Have you noticed, there are a few writings too vulnerable that never reached your grasp? Have you noticed, how much I love you? Every day, I write in the thought of you. Every hour, I long to sit and scribble; my bureau plat. Every moment, I never disregarded you.

In the hope that one day you will see, I compose this letter for you, my dear.

Written under the notion of you, my darling.

As deep as the bottomless ocean, I have had immense endearment for you. To embark on a exploration, every paddle and every sweat, I dedicate it to you: a soul whose delicacy is as wide as the ocean itself. I can't quite put my finger on the exact moment this willingness dawned upon me, but what I am certain about is that no being – dead or alive – will prevent me from sailing your ocean.

I miss the tidal waves: inconsistent, yet something about its change intrigues me. It is what urged me to give my utmost protection, and it is also the very feature I adore the most. I have dreamt of a phenomenon where I am able to understand them. No, I never desired to control, but rather to listen and embrace. Come forth, and I shall hear. Spot my devotion, and I shall be one with the waters – one with the sea, and one with you. To you, my other half; I wish for nothing more than a unity.

It felt serene; easy and tender.

I pen to you once more in this particular sentiment; a sentiment I call my devotion; a sentiment that never reached your hold. Needless to say, I have envisioned it would reach your hold effortlessly. Yet, what is a devotion if not given an attempt? Thus, in the hopes that this letter may act as a reminder for myself, I beseeched to a deity up above: Grant me your utmost aid. Strengthen me, because I truly do wish for nothing more than for you to understand, because if you do, I will finally be at peace. A peace that I have yearned for quite a while, a tranquility when two souls connect and are prone to emotions. Perhaps, an implicit sense of devotion should return anew.

I promise, in the near future, I shall confide this to you, and none other than you.

An Unfeigned Epistle To My Past Self.

You have undergone a life in desperation; the life where society's discernment and criterions of you grow more and more stringent at every passing day. I feel such deep sorrow for all the sobbing sessions and the anxiety from overthinking even the most minor things you had to endure all on your own. The reality that you had to be under brutal scrutiny was arduous and burdensome, and yet, it feels odd. Despite this all being true, I feel no remorse. It was not until today, as I stepped foot into the flower market that I realized: life is already perfect as it is with its own flaws. As the scenery of the London arterials unveiled in front of me, I followed my trail of thoughts as I stared at them and it led me to this very verdict. These little flaws in my life is what tailored me into me (if that makes sense). I believe you were worn to a frazzle with all the 'what if's clouding your brain. Me too, kid. Please don't fret over what you cannot redo. Please don't fear of other's adverse opinion of you. Here's a warm embrace along with this epistle as a token of admonishment: Only you can live your given time.

— "I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly."

I would go back a multitude of times just for the river bed to consume me with their flooding embrace once more; the very embrace that grants me a sense of mirth. In those efforts, the frigid waters seep through me and made a slumber I wish to drown in. Still and all, the little universe washed away from me, and it was a distinct yearning. Thus, upon a constellation, I say my prayers for the sake of us:

By morning, let the waters revive me into something better.