Through the eyes of - Pensively

Pensively

Sep 5, 2015

622

2 Mins Read

The second poem in an indefinite series. Written by a close friend of the being who spun "Sonnet: A teen" (possibly the same person).

"Love Letter"

Hi there.

It’s a nice day, isn’t it?

We haven’t met but I know all

your family members’ names, Graham and Susan,

Fred and of course Ruben.

And don’t you love cheese toasties with berries? Well

of course you do, your mum had pics of some

on Facebook,

seven years ago

when you were very

small.

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And I totally support Geelong! You’re subscribed

to Goodreads? well so am I, (now)

and I could go

on and on

but since we’ve never met

why bother?

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This has been drafted a

billion times

so it’s a good thing

you won’t read it.

It would only result

in awkwardness

for all.

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When you smile

and sunlit pikes bend off your

blinding thatchy hair

and cheesy puns all but surpass the greatest Tina Fey performances,

and even boring

ice breaker games

or long bus trips

are fun

fun

because it’s easy to imagine

being swallowed

by the fjords in your eyes.

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It’s quite an art, calculating

the exact route to take and

plotting the points like

a gliding ship

or a tilting hulk

hoping

to stumble onto treasure.

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The title of this piece is ‘love letter’ but it is neither lovely

nor a letter. It’s a statement to crushes,

and puppies

and people.

a statement of unintention.

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Friends always ask:

why do you suffer in silence?

Why smoulder in reticence?

Why sit on the fence?

When perfection embodied

is presented to you,

why not try

and nab it?

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But really, I’m fine, and

this should be called

“An Apology”

because I don’t need to

show up on your

doorstep with flowers

and star shaped chocolates,

or chocolates and star shaped flowers if

you prefer.

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I don’t suffer or smoulder, or tear my clothes on fences because

you’re my crush, and I’m perfectly happy

with the way things are—

watching

from afar.

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I’m sorry

(but not) because

you’re not you

to me; you’re my mind’s you and

meeting you for real

would only spoil

this sculptor’s

Galatea.

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So thanks but no thanks

to suggestions from friends.

this birdwatcher

doesn’t want a pet,

only to see the songs

and joyful flights

of the warblers

in the early pink of dawn.

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And we can both go along

in our lives as we do

and be happy, with a sigh

from me

to you.

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5. Have you ever written a letter without the intention of sending it? Did you send it, in the end?

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