where the writers are
just another love letter

i read and watched the novel/movie Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller . it is a touching experience, one which stays with you for quite some time. i felt compelled to put myself in Robert Kincaid’s shoes and write this love letter to Francesca Johnson. i hope i put justice to the love and passion that they shared. pardon if i changed some events, i wrote this according to how i want to remember the novel.

“dearest one,

it has been a long time since…i ought to stop writing these letters which i wouldn’t have the courage to mail anyway. it feels foolish, i feel more at lost whenever i do this. but i guess i just have to continue pretending that you’ll be reading this someday. not for sanity’s sake, God knows i’ve lacked that one these days. but just to feel you and reach you and be connected to you once again. i’m more confused than i’ve ever been.

my thoughts always come back to you, your smile, your touch. i’m driven insane by this seething desire to feel you once more, even for the last time, one last time.but you were right, we couldn’t risk giving up to this longings, not when we consider all that’s at stake, not when we know deep in our hearts that every last time would demand another one, and then another one after that.

i am hurting still. please do not deny me the pleasure of my pains. it is with the painful throbbing in my heart that i felt closer to you. you are with me darling, even if you are so far away, in my dreams, in my waking hours. i am enraptured by a fever that is you, a fever that i hope i’d die with, a fever with which i hope i’ll live through eternity. pain is good my darling. it reminds me of the reason why i’m still living. it reminds me of the crossroads further down this trodden path where your road rejoins mine.

at times, i wish i never let you go. at times i wish i never left. i miss the immense pleasure of watching you stand by the old bridge, staring into a beauty only you can see, seeming oblivious to my constant prowling, as i find the exact mix of light and shadow through the lenses of my camera as i try to immortalize that image through the film and through my mind’s eye.

i guess i never did enough, or was i too much? it’s no longer relevant though. i walked away at dawn, as you sleep after a night of passion, of whisperings of a love that is so great it is willing to suffer. suffer but endure. and suffer, for both of is, but i hope in my part more than in yours.

i am travelling again my dearest, hoping to find meanings in places and in faces, as i try my best to capture life in my lenses and breath some of those to my very own. i would not deny though that everywhere i throw my glances, it is your face i see. i’m chasing my own ghosts everywhere, pricking my wounds in a constant reminder that you are the one i will always reach for but will never even touch, ever again.

please don’t shed tears for me. it is long passed, longer than i care to remember, longer than i thought i could possibly endure. how i survived, i would never know my darling, one mystery i wish i can uncover in this lifetime of ours.

i am ready to love again now, but have no fear, for my heart is big enough to accept another lady without displacing the pedestal in which i have laid down my love for you. i’m afraid that when that time comes, the image of your face would slowly fade into sweet oblivion, like an old photograph in a losing battle to hold on to life until time slowly takes away any manifestation of smiles and pains and anguish, and what remains is just a confusion of objects blurring into one.

you are the kite that i’m not willing to let go but i could never hold on to forever.

my dearest.