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Prolific Writer
Join Date: Sep 2007
Location: in a body
Gender: Private
Posts: 211
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Letter to a little flame
I didn't know where to post this one. So, I guess f13 is the right place to do it.
Dear Fiama,
If I said something, I would feel as if I were acting and, since I’m a very bad actor, Fiama, I apologize for remaining silent.
You’re a very talented person and a very lazy one, as well. Now I refuse to find words to make a broader description of the picture of you I have in my mind.
It’s easy to notice that you’re your name: ever-changing and intense like a flame, yet I must stop here, because I don’t like to sound too cliché.
Fiama –I adore to writing and speaking your name-, you should… Who am I to talk to you like that? I’m older than you, it’s painfully true, but I’m still trying to figure out some piece of advice to myself. I must admit I don’t know how to deal with you, because I’m afraid that even your name suggests that you might cause great suffering, both physical and moral. Alluring delicacy that burns.
This isn’t reasonable at all, I know, but I’ve a lot to learn about foretelling yet, in spite of my being experienced in these matters of giving my point of view about the future. Some even take me seriously and I dare say that it feels good at times. But, again, you’re not predictable to such an extent that I’d put my finger on you. Who is, after all?
Accordingly, every time you’re around I can’t help feeling –how can I put it? - intimidated.
Fear, my dear, pure and simple and so real that I’m compelled to shut up until you’re left. This, again, is only more of the same cliché I mentioned above, but these mean words are the only means I have to try to make you understand I’m human. Some call it self-preservation, but I lack time for euphemisms.
Some day I hope you feel the same and look past your steps and think it all made sense, for this is why you and me converged or rather what I like to think about you and me.
I’m unintentionally getting into this rapper thing again, it must be because of my age, and telling too much to you, as if pleasing my contradictory nature was the only reason I wrote this letter for. Well, perhaps it’s true and rather than talking to you, I’m talking to myself once again, as if you were in my shoes, as if you could.
Next thing I’ll do, I’ll look for some envelope among my messy papers and entrust this crappy assembly of cold-as-metal-covered-with-dew signs to the post service, were they will certainly weigh this hyphenated little piece of jewellery and probably think it's just an ordinary chain too heavy for its worth.
I don’t mind, though, I've come from long-gone times, Fiama, and I'm used to giving presents the old manner.
I beseech you take not a single note of mine as an emotional shackle and wherever you happen to find my writings, please understand that my flaws may go as far as to make me act when I’m utterly unable to; they may make me drift into my prompter’s loquacity, make me venture opinions amid information’s paucity and force rhyme (yes, I have the audacity) while I claim to almost hating what I say.
Then my flaws lure me into unnameable sins, like invoking a thousand times your name and calling it a fling to ease my forced flow of words.
Fiama, if my gift made your light low, keep in mind and never ever forget that all the while I’ve been trying to convey –very clumsily, as you can see-, that the dawn is more than blessed by your presence, the sun is warmed by your greeting and I begin to feel it’s just fine to think of you as an eternal child that never sleeps and is always dreaming.
I’ll be here, in case you feel like sharing a couple of dreams, if you understand what I mean.
__________________
"All, all is theft, all is unceasing and rigorous competition in nature; the desire to make off with the substance of others is the foremost - the most legitimate - passion nature has bred into us and, without doubt, the most agreeable one."
Marquis de Sade
Last edited by winkash : 10-09-2008 at 10:44 AM.
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