A Letter for Quesalina
Quesalina,
Will you find it odd, or something to be mad about, or sad perhaps, that in the end, it was your sarong, your shawl that was with me.
I have to admit I did not think this would be so. But that is irrelevant now. The day is nearly over, and here I am, garbed in the cloth that was suppose to take the place of your arms in your distant absence.
Absent as you are now, absent as you have been for a long time now.
Sometimes, I tell myself that it was a dream, a very beautiful dream, so vivid that even now, I can still recall the colors and flavors of you.
Perhaps it was a dream.
Indeed, it must have been a dream. Inscribed on the edge of this shawl are words so much like the dust that dreams must be made of. So much like you, Quesalina. For you, too, have always been a dream, and through all those times I held you, you wore another name.
Quesalina, I do not know the proper semantics of goodbye. Nor do I desire to say so. Allow me then, to make it like this:
To Quesalina, the most glorious of all my stars, in daylight or in dark.
Today, on the last year of the year is exactly 2 years and 1 weak since the last time she held me, since the last time she loved me..since the last time i was safe in her arms, since the..you get the point.
I am trying to be honest as i ask ,yself if i have been whole since then...
...well, i should be, right? It has been that long to be mourning over the death of something that may have ever been true or alive in the first place...
I Confess I Have Been Loved... (and perhaps one day i will be, again. Perhaps)
One last Indulgence.
One Final Last...
It will understand if you will never forgive me.
But i have already forgiven myself...
...and i believe you should do the same: forgive yourself.
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