Typical cliche equatorial night in this rural suburb; Hot!; Buzzing
Mosquitoes; Barking Dogs. With blatant disregard to grammar, I sit. A
pause in time. Pen poised in mid air, a pendulum swinging from a blank
mind to a dry mouth. The space through which it swings, a vacuum filled
with memories and desires; heartfelt and blurted out; a fire burning
against an impending darkness. I am in this space. I hope to pluck a few
moments that can perhaps give breath to the words I dare not write.
I was writing you a letter, another one. This one was long overdue.
I
have found that the skill of letter writing is one that is easily
forgotten. Many times prior I had found myself held ransom by a paper
without words. Perhaps I have succumbed to the life that is character
limits.
The buzz of the telephone. The mobile hand set. Interruption. A text message.
Relief.
Your
timing is perfect. I bet you did not know of how the post master
watches closely the dealings of the exchequer. He keeps step.
Pain.
I
never do consider these possibilities, my fault really. Who upon
watching the magnificence of ship upon water pauses to consider the fury
of the sea kept hidden in shallow depths?
The pen settles. The spell is broken. Sip of water. Swallow.
The letter need not be written. A text message shall suffice. Goodbye.
I will miss most your tear that cleanses my soul.
