I have two letters I want to write tonight. One is for the morning, and the other for another day. I don’t want them both to represent the same because they will be when finished completely different. However, they will say, both, the same thing. It is just naturally up to the reader to determine intent or reason, I suppose.
Tomorrow is a token day, Valentine’s Day. Some people go off the charts with their celebration, and for some, it is simply a day of the week. For others it is more difficult day, especially those that are struggling with the reality of being alone on such an over-celebrated day.
For many years, my significant other and I have gone out to dinner, posted the event on Facebook, or social media, and applauded the seeming passion of our relationship. Today, as I write this, I know we are both not feeling this, and though there is some apparent sadness, there is also security. We are good friends and we care about each other enough to want one another’s happiness. At least that is our conveyance.
Yet tonight I struggle because my affections are in a different place. They are a memory, a nostalgic recall of grace and beauty that in the truth of a mystique, do center squarely upon the love of my, shall we call in order to secure preservation, my muse. I’ve had many muses over a lifetime, as I have indicated in many previous writings, but today I stand alone and I imagine one person who does hold my heart.
This reality in my life gives me pause, and allows me to second guess the real purpose of sending these letters at all. I do have a genuine motive by all accounts; however, there are feelings attached to everything I do, and right now those feelings are more separated from my heart than I have perhaps ever experienced in my life.
So I will write my two letters, and they will both contain the romantic musings they are meant to convey, yet, my heart will feel a certain detachment, that as I close this passage wonder what its purpose really is in my life today. Is detachment meant to engage more meaning or less. I will go with the former, as I have all my life, the romantic, the part of me that allows pain to be a certain factor in giving me strength inside the wonder of whatever faith it is I seem to cling upon.
I have two letters, I need to write them both.