Epistle of a Poet Who Loved So Much

To The One I Have Loved Truly and Deeply…

One day, I know I will be forgotten… these letters shall have no more meaning… these poems shall lose their lyric rhymes. I will be forgotten… by the world… by you… by myself… These words that I have written shall remain to be what they simply are – merely words – representations of what my heart truly feels… of the things that courage has not swayed me to tell you. The ink that I use to declare my love for you shall run dry… the voice of my quill that speaks in my behalf shall quiet down… and the parchment on which these feelings I have for you are frequently noted down shall remain blank and unwritten. The world will get tired of me… you will get tired of me… and I will get tired of myself.

My life is filled with the words I weave. Words that find their way into the hearts and minds of many. As a poet, people from various walks of life have given me their countless lauds, their myriad praises, for to them these words that I write were what seemed like a sought for refuge from things they find hard to say, from the emotions they were too afraid to convey. As I write I would ask myself often, what power do I have for my words to win over the people who read them? What enthrallment could I have been possibly bestowed to captivate them as a siren would with her mesmerizing song? For even if my words could stir and fascinate many, I could not find ways for them to fascinate myself. To many these writings seem like songs in their most perfect tunes, but to me they sound more like songs without a melody. To them these words bring warmth and comfort, but to me they remind me of how lonely and how cold my nights always were.

But all those things were before I met you. For when you came to me, you rescued me from the silence of the words I wrote and brought music to them. You somehow taught me and made me realize that every single emotion which the words I wrote often expressed were real, and in more ways surreal. You made me feel every word I wrote, every meaning they conveyed. It was as if from being a poet, I have become a mere reader who smiled as I read what I have written myself. You showed me that I am not just a poet. That I, too, am a painter, a maker of portraits, a songster, a sculptor, a follower of art. You have made my eyes see that life is more than the words I write down. You have made my heart feel that love is more than the words I know how to describe it… that it is real… that it is true… and that it can be felt even without the use of words or melody or music.

I found solace in your arms, a happiness and appreciation for what I have which I often turn my eye away from. Each time I write for you, it is as if I write to the world. And each time I do so, I tell the world of the grandeur of my love. For to me, you are a semblance of how beautiful the world could really be – the colorful hues of the sun as it rises from the clouds that cradle it at night… the sweetness of the dew that cools and freshens the leaves… the greenness of the grass in its perennial entirety… the gentle touch of the breeze and its pleasing whistle and rustle… the majestic view of the sunset as it paves the way for the stars and the night sky. We smile, we laugh, we talk, we sing, and we choose to be with each other. And to me, you are the semblance of how true my love can be. Together, we have created meadows of our own… we have created our own world… where only you and I live… where the days and nights are one… where we have each other as if we have everything. We have created our own sanctuary, our own refuge, our own place where we could run to when we feel lonely, unaccepted, astray. We escape from the world and its unkindness and flee to what seemed like our haven, our sanctuary, where we would find ourselves sitting on the grass, waiting for the other to come, and with joyous callings we would stand and face each other and welcome each other with open arms and a warm hug. For in our sanctuary, we are the world.

But even a poet can have a share of how ironic life can be. For even if I could write a myriad of words of how my love is for you, these words I chose to remain quiet, unsaid, and unspoken. For countless of times I have tried to write them down, and for countless of times too I hesitated. I have loved many times, but it is only now that I have loved like this. Loved so much like this. Given so much like this. The depth and breadth of the leaves bear witness to how my love is for you, that if only the birds could speak through the songs they sing, I shall wish that they sing for you and tell you of how I feel. And so here was the poet who had a million words to write about anything, but not a word to write about his love. Here was the poet who wanted so much to love but was afraid to declare it… to muster it… to put it into words. I delighted myself simply in your company, hoping that someday the happiness you could somehow feel when you are with me could bring meaning to the love I have for you and make you realize everything that I felt and wanted you to feel. I once watched you as you slept by my side. I watched you along with the million stars that shed light to the night sky. And I cried with enormous happiness that somehow, even for just a night like that, I had the greatest and truest love that I felt beside me, close to me. For that night, I could not wish for anything else but the nearness of you, and somehow, your love too. But as a poet is wise, a poet is also folly. For in the foolishness of the words I spoke, I have made known to you my love… the love I have so tried to keep from you. I have made known to you a love I know somehow you cannot give back.

Now, I am alone again, with only my ink, my quill, and my parchment as company. I write with words with meaning to some, but without any to myself. The melodic tunes were again silenced and the nights have grown colder than before. But amidst all of these, the love I felt still resides in my heart…like a bird willing itself to be enslaved forever… like a flower which no one would dare pick. I am alone, and you… you chose more to be with someone else… someone unlike me… someone you can love.

Somehow, in my lonesome solitudes, I still feel the happiness you brought to me. A happiness so genuine. A happiness so true. A happiness I thought I could never find. You brought me happiness because simply, you have been my happiness. However, amidst the smiles you gave me, the laughter and the cheers, somehow, deep inside me, I know that I am not your happiness. I know I made you happy too, but simply, I am not your only happiness. For I know that your true happiness is your freedom… yourself. I have been selfish for me to let you feel that it is only I who can make you happy and that it is only I who can love you… for I know I never can and never will be. I know that you were happy in my arms, but I know too that you feel happier in the arms of someone else… someone whom you can freely love… And so, even if it somehow hurts me, even if it somehow pains me, I have to learn and to choose how to set you free. For a love only becomes a great love if you learn to let go of it, let someone else have it, and still be happy.

As you walk towards freedom, you can now freely love someone else. As you do, I wish that that someone else will be able to see who you really are, to see you through and discover the kind, loving, and thoughtful person that you innately are. I wish that that someone else will be able to sing you the words of love I have wished the birds to sing. I wish that that someone else will smile with you when you are happy and cry with you when you are sad. I wish that that someone else will make you realize the beauty that you have brought to me and to the world. I wish that that someone else will never desert you and will be faithful and hold true to you in all times. I wish that that someone else will go along with you in the crossroads of your life and still be with you even if you pick the wrong road to trod on. I wish that that someone else will never make you cry. I wish that that someone else will cause you not a single hurt… and I wish that that someone else will know how to love someone like you… for someone like you only deserve to be loved and be loved much.

Now that you have someone else, someone new, for you to love, I shall now heed the message which I have for a long time neglected to transcend to myself. I shall now distance myself away from you. So that you can love freely. So that you can love happily. I know that to see you love someone else as much as I love you would hurt me much, but I know this hurt I have to endure. For I know it is what will make you happy. And I will endure whatever hurt, whatever suffering, just to see you happy… just to see you free. For to love is to be hurt. And to be hurt is to have loved. I have been hurt because I have loved. And I shall go on hurting because I shall go on loving. As you now love someone else, I have one wish to ask of you. That the moments we have shared together will remain as clear as the skies… even if they be only in your memory. But I know that time will come that they will somehow slowly fade away. When that time comes, that will only mean that you no longer have any need of me… and that you can already make it on your own… without me… in your life… in your world.

As I somehow go through life and love alone, I pray that I be given the courage to lean against the wind… to feel its arms somehow… and allow it to cradle me as I have cradled you for countless of times in my arms too. As I sit on the shore and watch the calmness of the sea, I hold my quill and parchment in my hands, for I feel that the sea is an endless myriad of ink… but never enough to write all the words that I feel and want to say. Somehow, I long to run away to a place where I could be lost… to find myself again… to find love again… to find the love that I have given… to find the love for myself that I too have given away. I feel like I am lost, simply lost, in my own sanctuary… in our own sanctuary… as if I have never been to it once… as if it was a place entirely new to me… as if I was seeing it for the first time. I feel like I am walking again… walking an endless walk… my mind fixed on thoughts but my feet moving… leading me into some place where I can be myself… where I can be happy again… where I can find love again. But still I am lost, simply lost, in my own sanctuary… in our sanctuary.

If the time should come that you feel you can already love me back… that you can be happy in my arms too… and when you should decide to find me and not see me… just heed the melodic songs of the words I have written to tell of my love and they shall lead you to me. Follow your feet where they lead you. Just walk and never look back. Follow your feet as they lead you back to our sanctuary… to the world we have created. You shall find me there… sitting on the grass… watching the skies… always in awe at the beauty of the world we have created together. And with your joyous calling I shall stand up and face you, smile at you, open my arms and welcome you again like before. For I have never left. I was only lost… awaiting for your return… with the same love I have felt… with the same love I have given.

Always know that even though somehow you will never be mine… I shall remain yours forever…

Sincerely,

The Poet Who Loved You So Much

January 04, 2008
Friday
1:35 a.m.