Sunday, September 28, 2003

Can I write you a letter? A sparkling, incandescent, shimmering, fly-by-nighter?

I promise you it will make sense. It will talk in grammatically correct sentences and weave prose in aestheticaly pleasing constructs. It will not hold back or tip-toe around your well-shod presence. It will neither scream nor whisper or maneouvre and manipulate for time and space.

It will tell you about the city I live in, its sights and sounds and smells. The fountain on the way to school, the skateboarder on the curb, the fire-engine screeching on the road...the fat squirrels and their bushy tails...the bells of the clock in the tower.

It will sit there crouching on handmade paper, shining in blue ink encased and awaiting your discernment.

And maybe it might not even get to you and even if it did, you might not get it. It is a monologue after all. My contribution to the throng of voices in the air, suspended till retrieval...

And I wonder if you would write back...

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