An Ode to the Fall.

Dear Maya,

I often ponder in the night and wonder cluelessly about your fable presence, and you would slowly gaze at my heart under the light of an evanescent moon. Such poise and a belle seldom makes the heart of a grown man ache in delight and render the mouths speechless. Even the quotes of ancient poets and philosophers fall short in words when they try to ink down what is merely an illusional boulevard. I wish I could color your Februaris with the petals of sunflower and soothe you with the trickles of a brook babbling away from the colds of December. You are an idea of a romance that every day my heart begets and with you, in my mind, I feel no animosity towards the time. The days will pass and the ink of this letter will fade but my heart will beat and the luster shall con all the glitters of the universe and the time thereon. Alas, the time of a romantic fool does sway, and all I want to ask if there is a meaning to our endless exuberant grey.

Is it necessary to start talking with an awkward hi followed by a wave of my hand along with a grin over my face? I waited, albeit not long enough, thinking if it was the only way to introduce myself in one of the parks on the internet. You replied back the same but with an exclamation mark leaving me to question if the time ticked slowly to get a reply so quickly. We talked, laughed, and shared stories about each other, often at times, unknowingly, stumble on to each other's dark tales that would end our night bittersweet. The romance was in the air and the night too felt shy feeling about it. All the happiness that I get from you, if a page and a pen could bear it, I would have written endlessly without a sigh till the ink runs dry. Though a distance abodes between us but every day I listen to your voice talking to me through the silence and I miss you humanly in every aching way possible. If I could imagine all that I could about you, will you be a sonnet written in a diary, tucked at the edge of my mind? However, even If I could dare to write one, will the words be enough to even comprehend what you are true to me? A truth is obnoxious to handle, a miscellaneous drag in a reality for the weak, but it is what keeps me awake. Truth is that you are the grace when the cruelty of life pecks at me, you are the light and the warmth of my darkness, the vehemence of mercy hidden in plain subtlety. Even if the petals of sunflower color your februaris, I will still be in the midst of doubt, because there are only so many colors in a palette that could truly define the physical form of great love. It is this feeling, a cirrus cumulus furor that quakes my hair up when I think about you; a scandalous yearning befalls when the night is just about you. I wish if the Dioscuri have aided Aphrodite when she was born, we could have been the stars that dance through the night behind the eyes of the Sun. So, will it be wrong to say that I want to be gullible in you, wandering outside the court of time and space but only within the four corners of the magic of every beating of my heart that is meant for you?

I wrote one poem a few days back reminiscing about you while I was reminding myself of the beauty of a sunset.

O, Ruby!

Could you hand me your ribbon?

A sensuous crimson for another season.

Would you listen to the wind? A nonchalant melody.

Would you see the sun with me?

Oh, such a beautiful felony!

Won't the roses today weep me a scent?

Just like the heart leaps for you, my friend!

I composed this letter to let you know how much you hold dear to me. You are the glittering flicker in my sketch, an ominous red and a constant firefly in my sordid reality. If this is a dream then do not bother waking me up for it is I who is resurrected in the confines of love and dream unparalleled.