This morning I thought of things that die and born with my eyes wide open. Things, not living organisms. Living beings are expected to die at some point in time, but inanimate ones aren’t. Within my soul, passions get lost, found, born and buried. Going through that is a bittersweet feeling for loosing passion in one leads to a beginning of another and a whole new learning of my self.
Just before I turned 23, I realized I have lost the passion to live, and yet a month later, I’ve found the hope to relive it. This year, I’ve found my passion for teaching and admitted my passion for writing. As I was browsing through my drafts of unconstrained thoughts, hoping to finally finish months-in-waiting writings, I came across a letter I can’t quite remember what about–or better yet,for whom. I recall writing this with the person in my mind, but now I literally don’t have the slightest idea who that was.
I am not entirely shameful of everything. No, I cannot be at all. It was beautiful and fun. But I’m sure as hell we were both dishonest. How big of a lie it was is not a question now. We’re even, aren’t we? Still, we both have to admit what we did was wrong. I’d be the first one to do so.
I’m sorry. I didn’t cheat, never have. I faked it..a part of it, but so did you. If karma comes running after us anytime soon, don’t hesitate to ask me for help. I’ll be there to help you in whatever way I can. After all, I caused this karma.
It’s a price I have to pay..for faking my feelings and, somewhere along the journey, for being so dull when it all turned real.
I always write the name of the person whom the letter is intended for. In this case, I can only think of one reason why there isn’t any: I cannot bring myself to write his name. Lucky for both of us, I guess. It seems I’ve forgotten what we’ve shared…momentarily