Dear Love,
It is quite apparent to me that I have very little if any relevance in your current life, and I highly doubt you think of me beyond a fleeting memory of your so proximal, yet so remote past. You did pay head to me at one point, and we saw each other daily, yet only did you come to know I held any feelings for you in a very embarassing revelation, however, you did not then know the extent of my feelings, nor did I. It is odd how even now your existence seems so trivial at times, but I know this is not the case. You are in the depths of my mind, embedded and engrained for as long as I shall have one. I may not be always be thinking of you, or apparent of how passionate my feelings truly are, but I cannot deny the magnitude of wonder I hold when I think of you.
You shall meet me again, but it shant be to your surprise, for I will be masquerading as someone whom you never knew. In a hell-fire of twisted love I shall follow you for to see you, just to see you will give me hope of our togetherness that shall one day come to fruition. From the depths of the unknown and the shallow surface of what I do know you are most important. Your beauty is incomparable and innocent and glorious for me. You are a sweet man, a truly sensitive man. In all likelihood you will, one day, break my heart, but I will always remain resiliant. My resiliance in no way, however, undermines the severity of my favorable feelings of you.
I dream of you in my sleep, night after night, and this love is something which I have no wish to deny to myself. In the most bizzare scenarios that my psyche creates in deep slumber you evoke such interest in me, you, in fact, provoke me. Your being, your essence provokes me. You are not what is trivial, no. Is anything really trivial, one must ask oneself? Is any part of the gift of life more trivial than any other part? Questions, questions, I ask myself, always. And answers fail to come. And so, I choose to enjoy what pleases me, hedonism, pure hedonism. And for that very reason, for the reason that I do pursue what pleases me, I write to you. You shall never recieve this little letter here, no, but I throw it out into the universe, I let it be. I must no longer be who I am not for there is simply no good reason. I am who I am, and that is that. Is seems simple enough to me, does it not to you? Like birds in the sky, or fish in the sea, being what one is is a good start.
I cannot emphasize the degree to which I wish we shall one day be together, in love and beauty. For now, I have the beauty of the moment, and the beauty of the dream, and of the past. That is all one ever has, and even that is so often ignored. It is you, my mother, and opium. If I had all three, I think I would die on the spot, but most certainly exhale with a breath of relief and of pleasure and of true feeling. Do well, my love, I will pursue you in time.
-Alex.
