November 13, 2008

My dearest,

There are hidden hearts everywhere, if you look hard enough.

Whether this amuses you, or inspires, or simply hurts, would vary with the season and the person, naturally. It can be sickening to see couples romancing (or worse, just coupling) when one’s quite fallen out of all the whole relationship nonsense, you see. It can be rather tiring. The heart has cycles that repeat and reopen old wounds — when will it ever give in, you wonder? There is only so much you can take, honestly. Yet, it goes on. You go on. Truth is, you still want more, you always want more.

Denying this would be someone else’s life to lead and you have but your own.

he room is filled with familiar faces, most of them in animated conversations. The sound of laughter wallpapers your every turn, its cacophony pummelling you. Everyone is a stranger, you decide, in the end, everyone is a stranger. You laugh, yourself, of course, you wage war with wit and humour those who fall short. Weary, you feel as though you’ve used up every last bit of kindness you’ve hoarded, your cup needs a-fillin’ again.

Who will wet your lips so parched? your soul so deserted?

The years have taught you that ‘The One’ may be a myth, may not exist. An urban legend that keeps singletons searching and seeking, and the married and mellowed mouldering in their wedded afterlife. Passions subside and bliss is a balm that wears off. You can only rub someone else so much (or yourself, for that matter) before you get sore.

You are sore, you ache and yearn and there are hearts everywhere you turn. It hurts too much.

 
Sing.

All you need is the chorus of your own voice. It can carry you when no one else can. Carry yourself, my dear, the weight comes off easier than a pound of flesh, believe me. Sing, in a lost and broken key. Sing, for your losses and your regrets, as you cast them to the winds. Sing, for your dreams yet to be made real, it will be, you tell yourself, it will be, come true for me. Sing, for your supper and your sanity, for separation, if need be, and some surprises along the way. All you need is your own song, just listen…

The words don’t matter when you finally learn what you’ve been meaning to say.

Surrender. Release isn’t failure; it may be the bravest thing you do. All these things we want, isn’t horrifying to see what we crave only imprisons us further? We made these cages, we can surely break these bars and and free ourselves.

Sing and free yourself.

All these hearts that surround you, hidden in the corners and the closets, paraded in pride and in piety, they are not monsters, not flaunting fairies sent to plague you. If they haunt you, it’s for good measure; you’re meant to be celebrating too. Forget your woes, they’ll still be there tomorrow if you must insist on them so. Now is the time to open up and take your place in this neverending dance of life. Peel off those ridiculous shades that hide those beautiful eyes of yours. They spark like diamonds like stars. Allow me to amuse you so you may break out in a smile so infectious they’d name an epidemic after you, if Joy can be contagious. (There, see? You’re smiling already.)

Baby, you know it’s true. All you need is love, love… Love is all you need.

Yours, ever and always.