Entry 48: Letter To A

Gonna begin a series of letter-style blog entries, like in my old blog when I wrote a short note to each alphabet, except now I am going to write a relatively long letter.

Dear A,

How long has it been? Months? Years? Far too long anyway. How have you been? I'm sure you are fine. Nothing much could faze you, if my memory still serves me. I used to think it was a mistake for me to have known you at all. But you were not a mistake, nothing is, nothing was. You are just something that happens to everyone else, and what happened to me was you. And I am grateful for that.

People say one should be over those whom you've broken up with. Why does one have to be "over" someone, I'd much rather say it's "past" someone. You can never be over someone. They become a part of who you are, a part of your life, a part of your past. A distant memory, hiding in a little crevice. And then one night, when you lie in bed tossing and turning, you accidentally tip over that delicate vial of memories that you bottled up. Could be months or years ago, but you just let it all out.

And then when the little projectionist in your head puts on the grainy, sepia-toned movie reel of your happy times, you just explain to him what each scene is about. How you used to spend time in parks with her. How you used to do silly things which make you cringe in embarrassment when you tell that little guy in your head.

You tell him about how you used to be so full of naivete, thinking everything would be ideal. And then you realise you haven't grown up yet, because "growing up is not about taking extremes". Growing up is about how you strike a balance between reality and perfection. The little projectionist sits on your shoulder and listens as you talk about your past with a smile on your face, like the little prince talking about his rose. And then the movie comes to a stop, and you start writing stuff like that. Eyes glazed over, looking distant and detached, you think about where to start and where to end.

But one realises there is no end.

Love,
Zherui