Inked In Crimson #5 (He)

Dear Katherine

My longing for your words has now intensified to such an immeasurable extent, that your absence has become my thirst, your presence my salvation. Day and night in this glum, melancholy place, I find in my heart a solitary, secluded corner only reserved for your voice, for the sweetness of your voice is so pure, so virtuous that it cannot be accepted by the heart that is full to brim with pain and sorrow.

Every night, I reminisce about the first time you called me by name, albeit unknowingly. It was on a blazing day, when we were strolling around the camp site. The atmosphere was quiet, barring the sound of the subtle wind blowing the sands away from our feet, making way for our next step. You were so cheerful, so chirpy that day. And I, like a faithful listener, listened to every single syllable that emerged out free from your mouth. Eventually, at one moment, it gave way to my name, my first name.

Daniel. How graceful, how ravishing it sounded. The ‘Da-’ that emerged like a stream descending from a lush green hilltop, the twist in ‘-niel’ that signified the twist of the stream as it descended.

And you didn’t even know it.

At that time, I had momentarily forgotten that I was a soldier.

Gone are the days when I looked for life starving like the sun,

Gone are the days when I searched for love, but couldn’t find one.

So my dearest, as the bells of the church chime twelve times, I return to my bed, which has now become the shrine of my religion, the abode of my peace. It is this place where I find myself delved into the thoughts of your existence.

As all four directions make way for a sound, silent slumber, and the cloudless night lends its hand to blow the barren, dusty sands, I discover that my restlessness has overcome this span of immovable stillness. I find that deep below this benumbed, bewitching piece of flesh lies a smitten portion of my life, stabbed by the dagger of your name, longing to be stabbed again and again, as these stabs are the stabs that relieve me from my pain.

Don’t let these wounds heal, Oh Almighty!

For they are wounds to my pains, and not to my happiness.

They are but the ultimate cure to all my grief,

That has conquered my emotions and made them its slaves.

So when I hold my gun, my heart swells up in violence,

When I march forward, my soul gives way to fury,

When I see friends kiss their wounds for one last time, my blood boils up,

But when I am stabb’d by this dagger of love, I surrender to my assassin.

So don’t let these wounds heal, Oh Almighty!

For they are wounds to my pains, but life to my life…

As I now stand up to put out the lantern light, I’m tugged by an anonymous force that resists me from doing so. It seems to say, “Wait. Sit down. You have so much more to write.” And I am compelled. Compelled by this piece of paper, that begs and pleads to be written on. Compelled by this pen, that considers it an honor to be used to write what I’m writing.

My mind’s beyond my control, my heart beyond repair,

My soul’s left waiting for you, beyond all gloom and despair.

Therefore I shall declare today, with this letter, this pen, this lantern, this endless stretch of sand, the stars and the moonless sky being testimony to my declaration, that you and only you are my love, my platonic love. You are irreplaceable in form and unparalleled in existence. You are the thought of my mind, the emotion of my heart, and the utterance of my mouth. You are the spell that has left me spellbound. You have given wings to my words, waves to my senses, and companionship to my isolation.

You have given meaning to my life, and that’s what I desired all my life.

I know not if you think of me in your dreams as I do,

I know not whether your worries go in exile when you talk to me, as mine do,

I know not if your eyes are elated when they see me approaching, but mine are,

I know not whether you spend sleepless nights thinking about me, but I do,

I know not if you sit alone at midnight and write long letters to me, as I do,

All I know is that you are the sigh of my every breath, the blood of my every bruise, and the sound of my every expression…

With love, and much more

Daniel