Page 23 - The First Letter To My Lady.

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write? Latter affords full control, former’s too raw,

vulnerable - too much of a risk.

Fearing the disregarded label of ‘blabbering’ as I had before -

far too many times in the past. I worried not to come forth

and present, only to repent, my messianic complex of

obsessive compulsions - chasing all things rooted in deep

profundity. I worried how things would pan out in person - I

knew I’d bore you half to death – either with an incessant

flamingo of lecturing pontifications, or worse, a greenhorn

display of my deep-rooted social anxiety. Ailing as I am, with

severe sociopathic aversions. Eventually, I acknowledge, I

wasn’t half as interesting as a book, not half as amusing a

person.

I’m on pause.

I’m on hold - for you to take my breath away. But this world

only feels hollower by the day. It’s a world of social

stratification in the Benthamian brand of utilitarianism.

Where fleeting hangouts of mindless clubbing took

precedence over exhaustive profundities of cavernous

running streams. “Still waters run deep”; but everybody’s too

busy being a hurricane & a half. Granted, there’s a beauty in

the little moments, indeed, but how long can we cope with

the fleeting insignificance & mortality of the human

condition in the guise of celebratory hurrahs? And hence, I

sulked obsessing over a pursuit for profundity.

What truly sets two people apart? What truly marks their

compatibility? It cannot be something so easily replaceable

now can it? After all, words – no matter how Novellian or

Orwellian the cooing be - words have come before; done

ever so gracefully by many who came & went, and many

who’re yet to be. What truly makes one worth then, what

truly makes one like, me for me? You for you?

As days go by days, the sun shone on a generation tied to

their digital forms. Drooling over the hazily bleary brights of

their