Ne m’ouible pas

A Love Letter was found in the attic a year after graduation

Dear Elios,

I have found you outside the gates of our old school. The noontime sun-break hits the fringes of your soft hair. You wore an ensemble of green. On your shirt it’s a hint of emerald when hit by by the shadows at the forest kind of green. Then a faint grey-green jeans meeting completion by the signature of your black converse. You were the same simple kid except you have grown, 5’8 tall and strong enough to play the athlete glory for basketball. 

It was a scorching heat of a weather but my eyes were as foggy as a dreamlike cinematic color-grade for a dawn break. There was nothing magnified by my awkward sight but your soul fit with ethereal complexities and peace in your stance. You are all well-familiar to the girl who knew that to be loved is to be studied. Such love language before it found it’s name has already been occurring in her heart since she was fourteen. 

At such artistic novelty that subscribes me to a love best written and photographed, it did not gave me enough courage to be cool to approach you. I have too much in my heart both affection and pain. I also have curiosities but I couldn’t begin anywhere near there. Am I still your friend that warrants me to talk to you sweet tidings and good intentions �"I could not tell. I retreated home with cliché upset. Then over again, after graduation, when we're making our life fresh out of college.

This little dispirited heart dismissed as mood swing haunted me with another dream about the two of us. In love. Of all fantasies I used to think, this one comes knocking to take a free estate in my head. Where are you? Aren’t you supposed to keep me in your arms as the night joined winter? Where Northern Lights made our glass hotel alive? Where you cooked some pesto pasta, my favorite of all time?

You were always in my thoughts and in my dreams. There was never once that I have not thought of you when it comes to love. This I learned that yearning is only possible to a heart that is constant search of you. As if you were a name to be known again and a figure that must be studied by an artist in limitless ways. Then some dreams occur and some dreams pass by. But you were in between. As possible to be held but as impossible to imagine with. My memories about you always gave me a view of your back or your side. Something about your peripheral just given but not enough. As present but elusive. As heard but a mystery. 

I am not locked in a childhood cage nor fettered by an unkind youth. But I hold them as if they are best for repair through you. You were far but kept haunting me. You were Lana Del Rey's Dark Paradise. I had to run haste to match the coal-powered train carrying you through the Alpian escapade. Why do I always have to dream of you as if you were to renew my youth? And my dreams about you were always about love, a freeing love, a caring love, a romantic love, a love that when I look in your eyes were possible to get real but has not yet came into being even after seven years since the last meeting. A love that hugged me, a love that held my hand as we crossed the streets, a love that walked with me home, a love that befriends and never left me alone. A love that satisfies while also beautifully insatiable. Like a fire in need of fuel, just as much as how love is meant to make amends. 

Somehow I have believed that you could have loved me in this lifetime, just as how you somehow selected Hozier's Francesca as among your music fave to be chosen again, like how he prayed, "Put me back in it". Yes, I somehow believed it that you were grateful I was in your youth. And no matter the distance, in a surprise without a sign, I would arrive to message how you were doing.

Never in any year that I have forgotten you. For you to me are the mystery of my youth that keeps flaring in the secret vault of my heart. You were my courage to get past my  imagined limitations and made discover all my other talents. 

But somehow it occurred that your distance was maintained by a wall I couldn't penetrate. If I were an enemy, I would have used a battering ram. But if my arrival again would cost your peace, what a mocked vizier I am. So I could only hold still as you stayed further, drifting in spaces you safely built. You have forgotten me but I couldn't forget you. I will not forget you. I will think of you, in a month or two, and then in another season, in years to go, or days to fly by. As of this writing, you are the yearning in my heart that keeps aching --a stubborn silent ache that someday I'd learn to medicate. But for now let me conclude this yearning with a kind wish, as always as ever before, just like how I did in every time we depart. 

May you always regain the happiness that you have built for years and years. 

But still, Ne m’ouible pas.