I write this letter with fervor, longing, hatred, joy, sadness, affection, indifference, honesty, passion, resentment, repulsion, and admiration. All of this encapsulated in a simple yet truly enigmatic word: love.
Do not be deceived by the reason for writing with love, for one writes with more love for those whom one feels fury than properly for love.
I sketch the words in a somewhat intoxicated manner, letting myself authentically feel what I kept in a Pandora’s box. To feel authentically and express with truth your impactful presence.
Your presence marked by a piercing black gaze whose path has no end but its intrinsic glow warmed my soul, and by a characteristic and chilling touch of fingers that burned the integrity of my body.
Sealed lips that held bidirectional love words, unidirectional as the leaves fell and time cooled.
Nighttime sighs under the faint moonlight promising a joint eternity, an intrinsic and extrinsic fusion of predestined souls, atoms separated and reunited by the Universe, hearts simultaneously drawn by God.
A Pandora’s box that held dreams of three laughter-filled little ones running to the sound of the seasons blossoming, always with the constant and robust presence of my greatest security.
An eternal individual embrace, with heartbeats filling our right sides and deceiving the distance the nymphs’ river created between us.
If only Pandora’s boxes were just this.
But caresses on the bare skin of the back began to hurt, without realizing the knife that slowly drew cracks in me that I will never know how to heal.
The stone that lifted me and held me became sand between my fingers, letting me fall into an abyss while I deluded myself with the softness I felt at the touch.
Phantasmagoric figures began to haunt my delicate sleep, reversing my greatest assurances into my greatest fears.
Color fading from my gaze, captivated by the black charm with which I remembered you looked at me. How futile and genuine in wanting to believe that this black was still yours and not the emptiness that began to surround and engulf me.
And finally, the sound of cries that still make me think that the atrocity was intrinsically and exclusively committed by me, a selfish soul always incapable of pleasing anyone.
In the end, everything seems shapeless now, cursed uncovered box, a statue erected on the coast of the old with a cloak full of riches reminding me of moments carved in stone in my heart.
I eagerly await the day when Lisbon has colors and life again, the day when my heart is returned to me because, for a moment, it will continue eternally with you.
Anonymous love letter from an unrequited passion
