A Letter to my Beloved.

To my beloved,

The fateful moment when our hands touched on that rusty old bus, I knew it was the start of a calamity within me.

A wondrous disaster; I watched it paint me blue and green while gazing into your ever-wondering eyes, before it finally changed into bright crimson, drowning me in its wake.

Love; wasn’t a foreign taste on my tongue, or so had I thought until she came with the sound of war on my childish heart. With banners raised high, I watched her send catapults at my fortress of solitude, until all that I had, I surrendered, and in return, gained more than I could hope for, and thus, me and my barren land of ashes and agony, finally began to bloom with colours I had never seen.

My beloved,

I hope, with all my heart, and every bit of my soul, that you are well.
I hope your nights are not as lonely as they were before. I hope that you have found peace. And I hope, blindly that even some of it, was because of me. I knew you were born as wild as the northern wind; as free as any bird that soared across the skies. So sometimes, deep into the nights when my eyes began to drift shut, I could not help but think that maybe it was me who was tying you down, chaining you to the very ground you never loved. You were made to roam and rave, my dearest, and at times, I felt as if it was me who held you back.

At times, I could not help but think that I’ve hurt you more than I’ve loved you. My words were never roses and ivory towards you, and I held a sword right at your throat whenever I spoke. It terrifies me to think that I have left scars that now litter your skin like constellations on skies, and that one day I might have to face them, see what I’ve done with my own two eyes, and weep.

It seems I‘m more selfish than selfless, my darling. For I cower in fear when it's time to face the bells. This letter that had started out as the decree of my love towards you has now turned into a letter where I moan about my fears and guilt. But cannot help but ask, have I hurt you, my love? Have I tainted you blue, when all you ever were to me, was golden?

Because the only blue you had given me was the vast blue skies I got to see whenever I was with you. The only pain I felt was when I watched you wave goodbye. I cherished and nurtured that blue like it was the last living plant in my dystopian land, just like I cherished you, and everything that you ever were.

I write to you, in hopes that this letter might not reach your eyes.
It has been a while since I wrote to you, and you to me. It has been a while since we talked in letters. But if it does somehow land in the line of your vision, and you decide out of a whim to give it a little skim, I hope you know how much I love you.

It may not be as grand and gracious as the ocean, nor it may be as refined as any fine wine.

My love for you is battered, bruised, and terribly blind. But it is, all that I am and all that I have, and all that I am, and have, is yours. To keep or release, is entirely up to you.