I descend in to details of this chaotic, flamboyant milestone, and somehow a greater number of things that have not satisfied me like the rains do the dry season. Maybe, one day I will evince symptoms of patience, and adjust the expectations that have been held up in the morbid jungles of my mind. I am pouring with rains of sadness, and restless in my movements, often a solitary wanderer in the company of men. I wish I were bold enough to be myself, and not change so often that I lost track of who I were, and my place in this world. I remind myself of all the hellos I restrained on the channels of my lips, because fear had propelled me to think that people were cruel; in the many ways that love was kind. I stayed in the dark corners of nowhere without hope, without warmth. Dear me of an immediate past era, you were strong, handling each challenge with grace, as life gambled your emotions against thistles and thorns. I am proud of you, and whom you have ascended. When you were nine, you descended in the scale of what is termed gentility – an ideal that was entirely novel to you. Your innocence was robbed by a woman who was suppose to, in some way, care for your safety in the neighborhood. I felt your courage sublime in the spaces of rejection, bursting with a million questions. You have always been brave. During the dread reign of pain in your heart, you forgot what it meant be loved. You towered walls around your broken heart. While I still regard your bravery, and more especially the nimbleness of your heart, I found it sad; because it became a ghost town where dead love thrived- a place where good things went to die.
I am now growing in years, and have- since the last time we talked,- understood your childhood in the many times that I have been an adult: you were intelligent, and your brilliance was always questioned by your hesitation to trust your instincts. You were ambitious of signalling your abdication of the literary sceptre in the days of your adolescence to unbecoming the impetuous lover of a young girl who shared your interest and passion for an infamous television show. I wish you had traced her lips with soft kisses, and sweet nothings. Alas, cowardice gripped the best of you. In my first attempts at this composition, I found you a drawback of everything I wish my younger self would have been. But your splendor more enlightened than dazzled me. Chivalrous. Handsome. Fragile. Your world may have spun madly on in times of emotional loss, but your frailty never overtook your strength and composure.
Naturally, at my current age, I find my thirsts and itches oddly embraced by the rest of world. The gripping evidence that your mind has carved many future paths from the rubbish conceptions that held you captive in your shell, and the many sleepless labour nights behind books that were meant to lead you down a more scientific future.
Dear dream crusher, you are have a liberal heart, living outside the boxes of life and parental desires. You should have said what you mean to all the young girls you had affection for, and not deodorize it behind words that were meant to seduce and satiate.
Dear me of a past unknown to the many people who currently surround me, I miss you, and I miss us. I miss the solitude, and the adventurer in you. You used to explore, and discover things that filled you with joy. If you were looking at me now, you’d ask me what happened, and I would remind you of all the things you whispered into the wind when you were 9. My arms would couple around you and be proud of who you were- flaws and all. The chains of your past have dissolves in to the dust of your present and future. As it is well known that the “wise men” of the Messiah’s time came from the East, and as your father hailed from the East, it follows that you, dear friend of a past unknown to many, is a wise man; and if there has ever been a need for collateral proof, here you have it. As I retire this letter, I want you to know that you even a desert looks ravishing from a distance. Focus on yourself and what you long to achieve, you have what it takes to be all you can. Live on. And be yourself. Time tells tales. In the meantime, young gentleman live on the broad margin of the Proverbs of the once and only King Solomon.
