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Eva’s letter to a poet

Published : Saturday, 27 February, 2021 at 12:00 AM  Count : 385

Dear Sir,
You are my Tennyson. Your poetry pours through the crochet of my cage and drowns me until I am dead and born on the other side, in your world. Until I am free.
Of course dying is painful, for I am no mermaid-I cannot breathe, everything visible is hazy but your hands, I can clearly make them out: rough like fate but gentle like people want God to be, dominant and strong like a prayer, steady, bold but sometimes a little wavering like faith.

I do not know why I like you or if I am falling in love with you but I do know that there is something about you that I cannot quite grasp , something out of my reach but I see it and every time I jump to hold it, it slips away. I think I like your eyes; your tired eyes that have swam such a long, long way. I like the pain in them. I like how I cannot see it but I know it is there and I know that your pain knows my pain and I love how my pain completely merges into yours until I completely forget about it. I like you lips, lips that have kissed more cigarettes than skin. Lips that have far too often remained shut, lips that have shielded so many words that they are dark red with a tinge of blue like a bruise.

I like how you are like my space-time. I like how to make me matter. I like how I have the ability to bend you but I wander if I am enough. I like how everything evaporated into empty space when you are around. I love, love your hands, your hands that are my time. I love your words, your words that are my space. Your words that I do not clearly know, understand but that completely occupies every space of me. I like your beard that is sometimes white with the snow of serenity. I like how you make me matter more in a world where girls like me always matter less. I like how you completely embrace my existence. I like how without you the idea of me is impossible.

I like your smile like November rain. I like how you are the answer to every question I ever have, I like how you give rise to more questions. I like how you push me into poetry; I like how you make me magic. I like how complex you are. I like how I am in an age where reaching conclusions are a kind of fate but I fail to reach any about you. I like how you are the fossil of romance.
Yours,
Eva

Eva is a school student










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