Dearest Charcoal Blacks,
Taking a pen as I sit here on the table, with hundreds of words I can’t find the right one to start with. Where to begin isn’t the problem but how to begin, should I confess straightaway about my profound love for you or must I first tell you when it all began. I wonder if I fell in love the very day I saw you for the first time, while you carried those water cans too heavy to slip on every step, or the time you looked at me wiping mud from your cheeks. Maybe it happened the day I saw you cry for I had never felt a pain so heartbreaking.
Those eyes, those charcoal eyes, held me and I haven’t been able to shake myself free. I’m not suppose to think of the charcoal black sea behind those eyes of yours but I’m afraid I have lost touch with my sanity, or whatever that is there to bide one by laws and rights and wrongs.
Everyday you and I talk through our stares, smiles, smirks and shrugs; a whole language we have built and yet no one has heard a word. These deep conversations we have sharing her heart out from far away mean more than the countless hours spent talking to people who know me, but not my soul.
I admit even though all I know is your name and I’m sure you know mine, I feel like I have known you for years like even before I knew myself. Do I sound too hopelessly lost? Maybe I would when I’ll tell you one day I’m going to walk up to you and give you this letter, smile and even ask you if we can go for a dinner sometime. I can almost picture your charcoal black widening with a shock but not for long, as they would soon twinkle and shine allowing the creased lines around your lips to turn into a grin.
Do you suppose we can ever find ourselves a world where it would be easy to not be afraid? I can’t go back to the life I knew before I found your face, your serious brooding pale face with a certain kind of beauty that has become a dagger inside me. If anyone takes it out it would be the end of me; I can’t get you out now.
I love the way you laugh, often to let me know you are there, while pretending to talk to those around you. Sitting on the window with a pen and paper I do my best to draw you, but even my best fails to capture the devilishly charming air of yours. Chewing your lips, frowning, laughing and lost, forgive me for I have captured you and buried you in pages hidden in my copy of Mein Kampf. I can picture you laughing hysterically and raising your left eyebrow to this scandal.
Some days you sit alone waiting for your turn while others get waters filled in their plastic cans, chattering enough to not care for the time, leaving you and I with couple of extra minutes to talk in our silence but you don’t look up. I have often wondered the pain you hid when keeping yourself busy in smoke, focusing your charcoal blacks towards the other side of road not meeting my watery blues, I wonder if the pain, keeps you up at night like it does to me. I find no solace and sleep until I see you again, until I look into those eyes throwing a mischievous eyebrow at me daring me to say a word a real word, for then I know you are no more hurting at least not enough to disappear in vain.
I can’t recall how many times I have taken a step forward and two steps back, exercising hundreds of them, at one place not finding enough courage to call out to you. Do you believe I’m like them, one of them who call you nothing but a Jew like you have no name? I so hope my darling you know me enough to know I would never hurt you or belittle you like them; for all this heart of mine desires is the freedom to run to you and kiss those dazzling charcoal blacks that have imprisoned my heart, my flesh, my soul.
One day, my dear I will break the ropes, take those steps and pull you into my arms and kiss you deeply but not before I tuck back those loose strands of hair that often fall as a playful curtain over my favorite charcoal blacks teasing me, until your fingers find them and place them behind your ears. I promise I would love you, all of you, those charcoal blacks, those teasing brown hair, the frown and freckles, the lustful eyebrows and the hurt you wear all day, I will kiss them all one day.
Wait for me, even if you don’t get this letter, please wait for me.
Madly in love with you!
The curious blue eyes from the window.
Inspired by this music…
I don’t know if you and I are the same, because I’m definitely not what I was 5 years from today but I do hope you are somewhat close to being happy. Funny thing is I was never happy, not even when I think I was. I guess this is where we sing our anthem Born This Way. I, also, do hope you are still hooked to the headphones because if you are I know you are safe and you’ll make it through whatever there is 5 years from now.
It would be crazy if you are anything like what I’m today because it would mean my level of anxieties, fear and blues are just the same. No scope of decline. Please tell me, 5 years from now you have finally found a way to get up early in the morning, because I’m sure I would be a late night person even years from now. And I also hope, so hope, that you managed to travel. Please tell me, you are or were in NYC. Please say yes. Please. Please.
It’s not that things are bad right now, not really, but they are definitely at a blind turn. So, I can only wonder what and where I would be next year or 5 years down the line. Just hope, I’m still not in Gotham. That would be the saddest thing apart from many other things that could happen.
I don’t know why I’m talking to you today, guess it’s because I can’t stop wondering if things would ever change like good-change. Would I ever get to stop being Batman, will there ever be a day I would leave Gotham and what about true love? I guess, my probability of finding water on Mars is way more than finding true love on earth. So, I just hope if not love at least you would have travel stories or a new job adventures going on.
Happiness is just a word and I know even if you have some of the things that I dream about, or wish for, you’d still be not happy happy. That’s not your fault. We have been stained by the ache so bad; there is no detergent to wash it away. But, if you are traveling or doing something you love its almost being happy. Not getting panic attacks anymore is the closest to happiness you would ever be. That I know. More than anything, I wish you are no longer lying cause if you are then I guess you too would find yourself with a letter like this for the 10 years later version of me. I know you too would want to know what I want to know, if the hiding and crying has stopped or not.
Yesterday and Today were crazy days at Gotham, which made me wonder what have I earned or learned in past 8 years, in terms of the work thing. Personally, of course, past 8 years have given, taken and taught a lot.
Among all the questions of who and what I’m 5 years from now, I have to ask this…Are you still writing? Did you manage to find a way to share your stories? Dear me 5 years from now, please be whatever and whoever, just don’t give up on the stories in your head even if it’s just for your eyes, because these stories are the only thing that have kept me going along with few good people. So, I hope you still have your stories and those few good people with you. If you have, I know you are okay and I’m going to be okay whether things are not what you and I want.
Hoping and wishing best,
Little from 2015
P.S No matter what, just keep hanging on.
P.P.S If the voices in your head are still mean, ignore. Like I’m doing right now, while writing this post.
Im so, so, sorry i asked you to leave.
There was a time i used to love writing letters. It was the time when Google and Laptops were kind of technology aliens all ready to take over the world of pen and paper. Seems like a life time ago. I used to love buying good looking diaries and notebooks and notepads, classy pens and pencils. Stationary was my best friend back then. I still have so many diaries in my wardrobe and i wonder what to do with them.
I used to write sorry, thank you and i love you letters to friends who were special to me. I think telling a person how special he or she is on a piece of paper is closest thing to telling it in person. emails, whatsapp, tweets, fb posts are emotion killer. Truth is, I find writing down a small one line thank you on a paper more appealing and personal than pinging someone offline saying “Thank you for being a part of my life and for letting me have you as a friend.”
Anyhow. With the kind of week i have been having i desperately need a Meg Ryan or Winona Ryder movie marathon. Nothing would make me more happy.