to M

(Read yours. That was great. I scribbled shite in my iPod notes to you several days ago. I thought I'd reciprocate heh. But just this once. Not here anyway. Would've posted this but no more blue paper. Tak biru tak best. Don't think I have to explain myself anymore. The stuff I write to you, the line blurs between the two yous I address, hence the line between absolute truth & embellished sleep-deprivation induced rants [which is what ALL of this really is] you know that by now. Bear with me. )

11th - 13th September

Where do I fit in relation to all of this? Pouring yourself away into the other. Declarations of love. And all that. What do I feel exactly? I am reluctant to be spiteful just as I am reluctant to accept being entirely happy about this situation. I ought deflate my ego, fall to the ground and bury my bruised pride alive. I ought to distance myself from you & your intimacies with him. Thing is isn't that a betrayal on my part? Although I feel thwarted, somewhat, by all this. I swore an oath in my heart to always be loyal to you. But what of me? Inconsequential really but I can't help myself. I am choking on the fumes of your love. What burns give off smoke. And I, having been tethered by you in such proximity to the roman candles of your love has left me slowly dying, alone. But you hold me with your artless gazes and laughter so I remain delighted & let my lungs constrict in my chest.

I stand by you still. Haven't I always?

What servant's loyalty to their sovereign do not waver? Loyalty can only be known through trials of its sincerity. What I am saying is, sometimes I waver. It matters to me all this. I regard all this with utmost importance.

I'm not sure if I'm up for it after all. I regard my feelings back then with a kind of sanctity. But. I do want to do this. 'Invade their waters'. But. Buts. I won't be sincere. My writings won't be pure. I don't know about you but my reluctance to unearth the past in this manner is not out of laziness. Never. It is out of something greater. With more forbearance.

I don't expect you to understand this. Not ever. After all, you're my Wall & I never yours. Not anybody. Which is why you're mine & I'll never be yours nor shall I ever resent you fully for it. This is the way things are. I orbit you always & you the star burn away, blinded by your own light.

This is it. I now have the root of my secret that is my perception of you. The you in my mind that may or may not ever exist at all. It doesn't matter. I do not need to be backed up by something that is unnatural. It is unnatural for you to be concerned with my affairs. I address you but never you me. Whatever you've written on those disparate pieces of paper you waved before me I expect nothing of them. Why? For you will never regard me as I regard you. I am incapable of such significance. I do not possess the wings of Icarus. Not even a pair of waxen wings. No. I cannot fly towards you & destroy myself in the process. I can only pine over my loneliness & grapple at your throne in the sky within the folds of darkness. At night, in my dreams, when you visit me & unleash a web of tangled, inexplicable sentiments & warp me beyond recognition.

I have attempted, in those letters to unveil myself to you. I have. But I feel like I've failed. You seem to be able to gauge me but I do not believe it entirely. Perhaps what I want is for you to admit that you will never comprehend me. Neither will I ever you.

I want to witness another as they truly are. I want their essence. Not their masks. I understand though that the level of communion I seek is in all probability is non-existent in this dunia. It is divine. God only knows the unquenchable thirst of the soul. This, can only be remedied at the end of Time itself. The promised day during which our final abodes will be determined. To descend into the fire and be alienated for eternity or to ascend into the garden & finally, heal this fractured soul.

Perhaps Rumi arrived to his divine love in a way sort of like this. Maybe you're my shams of Tabriz. As you said, it's implausible that anybody could arrive to divine love effectively immediately out of the blue. He must first love his fellow human, because 'Mortal love is comprehendable' you said. I believe there is truth in that.

But to be in mortal love alone is just fanaa. Not achieving divine love through mortal love is to fail. "This dunia is the means, not the ends." I don't know who's words those are. Heard it somewhere in a Halaqah.

Love, the unspeakable. Love, the inflammable. I can string a myriad of adjectives to it & hope blindly. You, yes I am addressing you now, you, have been blessed with a gift. Contain your love in the furnace that is your heart. So you feel the warmth but not be consumed. I am in no position to be instructing you in these matters.

I smile when you smile.

Ton ami,

P.

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Ugh Imma take this off in a bit. This is too much.