Old letters

Letters written in the heat of passion, are simple abominable things, they tear at the soul when one holds them in the heart. Yet I cannot help to read the odd one—without searching any out, simply the one that comes into my hand,and hold it to my heart—and it causes me such terrible pain, anguish and suffering. I would advise anyone who has ever loved to read it as it arrives and turn it into ashes immediately—and cast it at the wind. Destroy it as soon as possible—for as time goes by it ingrains itself into the very fabric of the soul and slowly it keeps eating away at it. It erodes, destroys it cell-by-cell, with excruciating pain and torture until it exists no longer—this is what we have done to each other in the name of love. If this is love—I will never want to have any part of it, even if God Himself offers it to me.  The worst is your silence—that will actually kill me in the end I know for sure, I can feel it, and I know it. I have never mentioned this to anyone, but it will happen, for there comes a point when all tips over.

I have a many of these letters –myself from you as you know, which probably you have forgotten—but for me they are ever present and within every moment of my life. I have tried to change myself, I have tried to move on, I tried to see other people, I have prayed, I have begged God –but to no avail to remove you from my heart, soul and mind. I suppose—I am not one of the favourites of My Lady, though all that I do is dedicated to Her. I am so lost, overwhelmed and pained that it is impossible to convey its complexity and depth.  I am just totally and utterly forsaken –in every aspect of my life. I just don`t understand it all—I cannot accept as I have done nothing but love you and God—and here I am in the very depth of desolation, loneliness and darkness. Nothing helps—nothing. No way out at all, never will –this is the way it shall all end.  I guess for all of us, not just me—life is rather finite and short—I can`t wait for it to end, truly. I just can`t wait. No—it is not feeling sorry for myself at all, it is just the recognition of all the futility of life, of existence and the hopelessness of everything within our experience.

But we asked for it, and we got it—and now the eternal suffering, the torture, the endless nights of regret , of longing of how things were or should be—yet we created it ourselves. I still have no idea why? No matter how I have tried to replace you I can`t—why is that ? Punishment from God  for loving you too much—serves me right—but we have free will that is still left.  Much is possible . I have thought about many possibilities, and have tried some as well—but simply no way out at all no matter how I tried, approached it.  I am bound—in very way and form, by invisible chains. There are only limited versions of escape, and none are very pretty—but escape non the less.

I am truly sorry –I don`t blame you entirely , but my self just as much. We just should not have fell in love—should not have allowed our passions to rise to such height and lose our souls to each other entirely--. The word ”lost” is a bad description—it is more of an a amalgamation, which now so fused, that separation now is impossible. I know you may think this differently—for you always have some intellectual  philosophical explanation of being—but this one you cannot explain away—ever.  Never will—and at the end of your life and mine—we shall be like Beethoven—and lament over what and how it should have been. How we messed up our God given gifts –that we ourselves destroyed though our own ego.

I am beyond all, I am beyond redemption and I am beyond reason—all I know that all is completely finished for me in every way and form. As for you—Write, for that is your need, your escape, salvation—but expect no miracle, for miracles do not exist for us here on earth—probably elsewhere neither. Thus is the wisdom of our God. 

All   I ask  of you is to remember me the odd time—for we do have so many happy memories—all is in our mind—nothing else exists. We were there, we always shall be there under that Jacaranda tree—the one we love so much and the one that always keeps us safe in its embrace. I love you so very much--as I always have, do and will always and forever. Don`t ever feel sorry for me ever, please.