May 13, 2020

Dear You,
I don’t know why am I writing thing like this again. It’s lonesome.
Funny how the memories of us struck my heart as if they were not real. That
they were just illusions of me and you, an idea of unknown. It was hard
bearing it all as if they are the vast oceans of doubt and misery. Despite of
how it feels at the moment, it was and is my treasure. I might be unable to
be lost again in those pair of captivating eyes you have, unable to hold your
big calloused hands that fits my soft ones, unable to trace your nose and lips
with my tiny fingertips, unable to sleep in that broad shoulders and
comforting chest that brings love and compassion to the muscle protected
by my rib, and I might not have the chance to be embraced by you, your
affection and all of you. Years passed and your smell still lingers as if they
were just at the top of my lips beneath my nose, the way your eyes stare at
me when you call my name and does not speak, the way you held my hands
as if you were afraid of losing me, the way you enfold me with your long
arms before we part our ways, the way you defended be from the hurtful lies
they threw at me, the way you gently whisper “I love you”, the way your
brows meet when you feel jealous and insecure, the way you sing songs to
me with your husky voice, and the way you taught me to become a better
person starting on being vocal of what I truly feel. You, you were the first
person to look at my soul, the first person who’s scared of losing me, the
very first person to make me realize my worth. Even though fate has become
cruel, these memories I kept are the evidence of love I once had, the deep,
sincere, pure and beautiful emotion. I am no Shakespeare where I could
write enchanting poems about what I feel, I am no Van Gogh, I can’t paint
beautiful sceneries and portraits that tell different but amazing stories, I am
no Beethoven where I can play music for you to hear before you fell asleep. I
am no one but when you came, I let me feel that I am someone greater than
Shakespeare, because I may not write poems and stories but because of you
I became the protagonist of my own story, the true story, not written in
books but living a life. You, I felt greater than Van Gogh, you made me feel
deserving of compliments, you see beauty in my existence and I am not a
painting where I have a fixed story to tell but a story I could change because
I want to and because of the choices I make, I am not a painting stuck in a
museum but a different kind of art because of your love. I feel greater than
Beethoven because you told me that even without words or music, even with
just pure silence, you could feel the love and affection I have towards you
and you told me it was more than enough and majestic. Your love made
going, it was real and marvelous. Your love, it’s priceless.
 I never thought we’d reach the day where we lose the battle against
the deity and the fate. All of the moments and time we spent became the
past we could never go back. All of it became a secret in the bottle lifelessly
floating in the endless sea beneath the rays of the golden sun and in the
middle of the vast universe. Crazy that my strength became something that
could tore everything of me. We are now miles apart and is impossible to
reunite but I want to tell you that you were once my breath of air, you were
once my poem that contains true words and emotions that I feel, you were
once my music that I’d always love to listen on repeat, I never get tired of
you, and you are still my art. An abstract in which I can only define, an art
that I’d never get tired to look for when lost, an art that I appreciate and the
art that I would forever know. I am no greater than others but with you, your
love, I am enough, I am worth, I am loved.

Love,
…