Home Letters Imaginary Love. 1.3

Imaginary Love. 1.3


The Most Gracious,

I will be glad to hear, under your own hand how happy you have been.

I would have loved to write to you from the pure white beaches on the coastal town of M for a reason that will get you extremely exhilarated when you get to know it, but that has not happened.

It is my fervent hope that one day you will be (t)here to see for yourself what, and why. A simple clue is that on the waters of the Ocean rests something for you to be intense upon. I have greater hopes of you loving it.

Last Sunday morning, I had an idea that I might pass a simple but pleasant day in this manner – read full poetry, or distilled prose, or a short story then wander with it, muse upon it, reflect upon it, prophesy upon it, and dream upon it until it becomes stale – but when I checked my behavior as a poor member of the mail checking crowd, that was no meant to be.

I found words. Words that I thought were bold, cold, and honest. They reminded me of a H.T and B.W song, “Aneganye“.
Or, maybe, that is what I felt about them after a misinterpretation.

Being someone who believes in “the story behind the story”, I was under the uninformed impression that I am writing too many of these already hence culminating into an “overdose”.
Hilarious. Better call a doctor because, what if you find me worth it, are you not going to go crazy?

My dear, there are other equally consuming distractions – writing, social media, music, trips, walks, photography, books, the television and more – but none is of much help to me. All they remind me of is the sad fact that I am a really idle and lonely person right now – only seeking comfort from people halfway around the world, or on the other end of the internet who, in fact, don’t care.

Like I was generous to share with you in a previous letter, there is a luxurious power over my senses which I feel, whether I am thinking about you or otherwise. I receive your influence and tenderer nature stealing upon me. You are my worst but, thankfully, best distraction.

So, please, till we get to physically confer – like we both prefer – let me hide my feelings behind this pen and paper. The words I take note of – you have not seen them yet – like you. Do not stop them. Read them at least once a week. That will not hurt you.

Nevertheless, I do agree with you. A regulation is in order, lest you think of me as, perhaps, mad. I will see to it that I find time to recline and simply count my blessings, which include the thrill derived from the joy that hovers upon me for I know you. A joy that the world is too small to contain.

One of those distractions, photography, had me clicking away, creating what I have learnt are known as selfies. And tell you what, I found that for every one good selfie you make, there are about twenty poor ones.

A few editions of one of them produced the avatar you said you like (attached). As a student and lover of the arts and other properly constructed things – sentences, buildings, bodies – I endeavor to communicate using means that are aesthetically pleasing – photos, clothing, and words. There is a canvas everywhere. Everything that we see, and sometimes do not, in anything is of a symbolic nature.

In this particular one (attached) – taken moments after reading your retort – are, like I told you, some coded messages that I thought I should detail to you;

A black hood because in this cold world we live in – these are not the best of times for me – where many do not play fair, a hood is something we all need.

Locked lips because regardless of the fact that I always have a reason to smile or something to say, I have been short of company and words lately.

Eyes wide open symbolising focus which I still harbour as the strongest weapon against blindness – derived from a possible lack of awareness.

Earpieces as we are in age when everyone and or everything is high, I choose not to let my spirits go low. The music lifts them up and helps diffuse any tension.

The two shades on my face are representative of the belief in a light at the end of a rather appalling tunnel – there is always one.

And the white background on which I lean is symbolic of the new me – pristine; still with my original purity, uncorrupted or unsullied.
However, do not be fooled. In a year of numerous successes, the biggest has been excusing myself from alcoholic beverages and retiring from the sweet suicide. It is now three happy months of sobriety.

It was not originally meant to be liked. It was of a sad nature. It was not an accidental edit. It was an effort that comes innately.

Phew! Indeed, you are right. I tend to write a lot. I can feel it as it wears me out. I always have long, sinuous stories which I never want to stop telling. It must be the oddity you found out when I sent “The second of many”.

I have thought it best to travel to K, when an opportunity presents itself, chiefly for the sake of legalising a business project that has been hatching like an egg in my head, and, of course, spending time trying to know you better, which cannot be had with any comfort from miles away.

Stay well, and play safe my friend.
In the hope of seeing you soon, I remain, most sincerely, yours,


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