2 September 2007
First Sunday of the Month
Beloved,
This afternoon, I opened my
e-mail in a cyber café to retrieve a document for printing. Our printer’s toner spills powder, smudging
any document that comes out of its bin.
The man I used to love and I
belong to the same Web-based group. For
some reason, I felt compelled to browse through the group and look at his new
pictures.
I dreamt of him last
night. That must be what made me look at
the pictures. I almost never dream of
people I love. I only dreamt of him a
few times way back when. I believe it is
nature’s way of not giving me too much so as not to hurt or strengthen me more
than is necessary.
When I got home, I lovingly
thought of the man even though we parted ways in not so friendly terms. Love, in its veiled treachery, ultimately
overcomes the hate and pain.
Recently, I gave 2 weeks’
notice to my employer. On my last day,
my favorite protégé, to my surprise, gave me the windbreaker that I had been
eyeing for some time. Seeing the pictures
of someone I used to love and remembering this sweet guy from work made my
heart flutter. Am I in love with the
sweet guy from work? I have yet to wash
his windbreaker. I want to soak myself
in his essence as much as I can. I do
not wish to wash that essence away from the garment. Not just yet.
I still allow myself the fantasy of his body embracing mine whenever I
wear his gift.
Fantasies can be willed into
being and summoned at any time. I let go
faster when the guy and I never kissed or made love. There is no burden of memory. My protégé gave me an enchantment that is
hard to break. While we never had
anything romantic while I was at work, his windbreaker will always call upon
uninvited memories: memories of my longing, of my wishful thinking. Fantasies stealthily become memories.
The guy from the Web-based
group walked away from my life without looking back. The scary thing is it is okay with me. The sweet guy from work, I know I will never
have. Is it sagacity indoctrinated by
age? Or is it “learned
hopelessness”? Or is it because I have
always been in love with being in love that I carry this torch song and revel
in it?
More men will come and
go. When have I become loving enough
that I do not love too much?
Well, c’est la vie.
Thank you for your
indulgence. I wish you a lifetime of joy
and wonder!
Always,
Robert
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The letter was sent to friends via e-mail on noted date.
