I say your name, hoping it will start the flow of words I so desperately wish to put on this page. Yet once the sound has passed my lips, there is nothing. Only an empty room. I wish to tell you of my feelings, but like the last rays of the sun, you have long since gone.
Though I know this letter reads as a lover might write, there is no other way to explain these feelings. My heart begs to be near you. Where I’d once feared a broken heart if I spoke the truth, I now realize that this emptiness is worse by far than not knowing. So it is that you read this compromise of words and wishes, that I might express myself and be done for better or worse.
Each day that passes, I hope to see you, just for a moment. I long to walk and talk with you. Your voice stays long on my mind after we have spoken. I could lie and tell you that I don’t want a lover’s relationship, but in truth I have never wanted anything more.
Perhaps the most amusing part of this is that I don’t even know you, yet when you are next to me, when your hand is in mine, I’ve never known another. When you walk beside me I feel complete, as two parts of a circle must when fitting together. Perhaps I am just a romantic fool, but in the end I will not carry regret in my heart for want of speaking these words or sharing the truth of my feelings.
Now I stand now on the sands of a foreign beach. I’ve left strange lands behind, and will no doubt see stranger lands before I find my place in the world. My thoughts are full with hope that I might see you again. Around me sand dances on the wind, and waves crash against the shore. I imagine the waves reaching towards the moon, as I yearn for your heart to be near mine once more. These words are whispered on the wind, and I hope carried to wherever you may be.
All around me, the magic of this place ignites an inspiration like nothing I’ve known other than being with you. I could bring you bits and pieces of this place, but I could not bring the magic. For that, you must come to me.
Image Credits: Flickr CC
In putting this back on paper, I’m taken back to a time in Afghanistan, with a girl I loved for all of her freedoms, and yet never shared even a kiss with. Instead, we shared dreams. She told me of her longing to settle in Spain with a vineyard and her lover, and I shared my writing with her. This piece, she told me, reminded her of Pablo Neruda.
In particular, she said it reminded her of his poem ‘Here I Love You‘. Reading his poem again all these years later, I’m reminded of her and the friendship we shared. I remember the promise of sanctuary her vineyard promised, where I might hide from the hurts of the world and write in peace. Somewhere, in my imagination if nowhere else, she and her lover enjoy life on their vineyard, and one day, perhaps, I will visit them.
We can share wine, laugh, and remember the good moments, which shine like diamonds in all that was bad about Afghanistan.