Dear Hot Legs,
I don’t seem to know where or how to start this letter, or put down my words. You don’t say a word but your silence is deafening, that it beckons me to respond to words yet unspoken and for someone who has a way with words; I am doing a very bad job.
Just when I thought the door to my love life will remain shut, how you managed to fit your whole self through that small space underneath the door still lingers in my head. This year I get to have a little company unlike the past six years sitting in my corner alone, awakening memories that ought to be buried and washed away from my system, amusing myself on what kind of fairy-tale I did love to have and strategizing on an escape route if however, someone came breaking down the door.
You bring your witty self and all shades of “kill-joy” with your nice shaped bum, still wondering why it’s you and not me that has that bum and how you still somehow see every inch of me despite this darkness engulfing me, all of this brighten this dark room of mine, even though you’re still standing at the door and I have not welcomed you in. I just want to let you know that you might stand at the door a little longer than you expect and am quite scared you might slip out before I get to welcome you in.
This dark room of mine was once bright because I was deeply in love. I lit a lamp that sourced its fuel off my love, making sure no force on earth could put it off with the help of the Almighty. I held on for so long even though the signs were there that it wasn’t meant to be, but on that very day, finally accepting the truth, my tears put it out. The springs in my head burst out like a prisoner that had just been set free sending spirals down my cheeks, flooding the room and drowning me in the process.
I do not know yet what it is to be loved, to be on the receiving end, even though I am growing strong mentally and physically, I am still broken on the inside. I am an empty drum that surprisingly overflows with love but has never been filled. I have always prayed secretly for a companion to crouch with in this dark room but now that you’re here I don’t seem to know what to do.
The fear of the unknown has me in chains, what if I light this lamp again? What if this dark room becomes so bright again? What if our silence doesn’t deafen us anymore? What if I get to have something Romeo and Juliet never had? What if we get so engrossed with each other and become oblivious to the world? The thought of it makes the bees in my tummy restless, I did start a honey factory of this seamless thoughts.
Wait I see myself doing the same thing, not wanting to find out the answers to this “what ifs”, pessimism somehow creeps up on me forcing me to ask; What If we get blinded from the brightness? What if the lamp burst into flames, razing down this room and leaving us scared in the process? What if I never get…
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