excess

freefall is a section in weight of words for masturbatory, practice writing, random quotes and pieces of poetry. similar to a tattoo where an artist sketches an outline first before the very illustration, freefall is an outline of either beautiful or monstrous sets of words to come.

one morning, i checked my mail box and saw a lone letter lying on its side. the envelope was white, it even had doodles on its corners. i knew right then that it came from you, but i didn’t know that it wasn’t exactly for me. you were just looking for a reader, a recipient, of a letter you wanted to send to somebody else. you were shy, and you didn’t want to disturb the peace that settled like a pall above the two of you. all you wanted was to have that sense that in writing and sending that letter, you’d finally get to exorcise him. i never wrote back to you. i am not worthy to reply,and i didn’t want to shatter your heart, but it was obvious: you are still haunted by him.

excerpts from my friend’s letter:

i read your blog post a month ago. there, you posted a couple of photos of you and your new lover. how i’d wished that the internet, in all its complexities and convenience, would find a way to warn people with bleeding hearts like me of posts that would cripple us. no matter: i’m happy for you. i’m happy for her, too, for finding someone like you. if i were her, i wouldn’t let you go, not even for ten seconds.
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the last time we saw each other, i wanted to call out to you while i was being driven away. but you walked away. i didn’t know then that that moment would be the last time that i’ll see you.
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i’m on my way to forgiving myself for hurting you. surprise? but there are still times i’d remember you, and i’d feel my bones trembling. it’s like a nervous reaction. believe me, i consulted with doctors, and there have been x-ray sessions, but they didn’t find anything wrong with me. i got to hand it to you: your presence literally seeped through my bones. if this were the case, does it mean i’ll carry you for the rest of my life?

and then you said good bye to him in your letter. and i found that there were tears streaming down my cheeks. it was funny, actually. i was crying for two people who could have been together. but i didn’t exactly know that i was also crying for myself; for my office mate who slipped and sprained her ankle; for the siamese twins in india; for the executive who didn’t floss; for my OB-Gyne who kills time by playing Mystery files; for all of us nursing something, hiding something, regretting events, sending things and thoughts to random people. because we all have to, because we all need to.

my mail box pines with you.