I come, in the time of speaking

My beloved,

Accept these tender, colorful greetings. I will not ask how you are, lest I pierce you with needless questions and add to your irritation. You are well, I suppose.
Though if you were not, no letter with explanations would ever reach me—I learned this some days ago. No, don't think I am surprised by anything anymore... everything is simple now, natural.

Days and nights pass, the night owl gives warning, even the month's long persistence admits defeat and takes leave, leaving only traces on memory's nectar-canvas—some words, some moments, some feelings.
Like that—on some faded canvas, with dried brush strokes, blurred and indistinct, were painted your forgotten words and mine.

I remember Swinburne's lines... His life is a watch or a vision/Between a sleep and a sleep... Life forever hesitant in the embrace of birth and death. Sleep at life's beginning, sleep at its end. Between them, opening our eyes briefly—that is life. And from life's endless rushing time, I yearned to gather fragments of moments to spend with you, wanting to give life a new dimension. But time! Ah, time! Alas, great time!

Again and again
to look back toward someone—
there is no time,
none at all.
...Rabindranath said it, but I, this foolish ordinary woman, didn't understand!
You and your kind understood... because you understood, you and your kind became what you are today.

At Waterloo, the general arrived late and his side suffered shameful defeat. A German proverb, when broken down, goes like this...
For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
...And that precious time—I had asked you to give to someone as insignificant as me!

Today, in time's great procession, you have vanished into the womb of eternity. Many dwarfs have melted and gleamed in the past, reaching for the moon—that tale I had perhaps forgotten, even briefly.
...Let me stay near a little longer.
Let me speak a few more words...
Before singing this song, I had mistaken my tiny boundaries! I beg your forgiveness!

Everything remains behind!
The neon light scattered under a lamppost at some street corner in your city, some golden evening, a pair of silk bangles, kohl-dark eyes, the black dot on your forehead, a bunch of white tuberoses, the reddish veil shy with blush... all remains as dust mingled with the dust blessed by your footsteps.
Please, don't forget to take your white shirt. It suited you so very well! I had kept it with such care, never letting even a speck of dust defile it.

Beloved, that strange constant devotion within you, the labor, the curiosity, the fierce willpower and creativity—never let them fade in exchange for anything!
Let your talent bloom in its own full expanse!
Of course, I lack the ability to understand your talent, beloved!
I doubt if I'm even qualified to understand rhymes—how then could I grasp the depth of your writing?
See how ignorant I am! With such foolishness, I actually dared to speak about your writing!
Oh, what a mockery!

Whatever the case,
So many words left unspoken! So many paths unwalkked! Time seemed to freeze!... Isn't that so, beloved?
Finally, accepting defeat, I must take leave today!
At day's end, I lost! Yes, I was a loser, a stupid, a disturbing element, a street beggar, an unqualified pathetic existence and a girl too ordinary to deserve you!

No beloved, I hold no complaint or grievance against you!
What you gave me without my asking—that itself was so much!
I am grateful, once more, enchanted by the kindness you showed this servant! I, unfortunate and unworthy, could not preserve it. You are innocent... noble!

The understanding was that I would send the second letter as a response to your reply. Yes, there were so many understandings!
But understandings don't make things happen, you see, beloved! I too learned this the hard way! I know no answer will come, so I won't place myself at the threshold of waiting anymore.
But yes, beloved, send no reply to this letter, because if you do, I might not be here to send a response. Of course, that would be a matter of utmost triviality to you! Perhaps this is what they call the quicksand of relationships!

Truly, beloved, this experience of drowning in the quicksand of relationships is surely unique!
I won't say goodbye or farewell or stay well—none of that. I'll only say this—I no longer want to torment myself by making you my safe refuge, beloved!

Signed,
A stranger