curtain up

in the hopes of finding inspiration for a project i plan to work on soon, i decided to re-read the first 3 books of the griffin and sabine series by nick bantock. and what i found was far more mind-blowing than inspiration.

it seems that writing love letters has become something of a lost art, as not many people nowadays would admit to being vulnerable enough to bare their souls on paper and actually have enough passion to present it to someone they don't know would just throw it away or truly appreciate it.

we now see movies and read books dedicated to this kind of correspondence (griffin and sabine being the most popular series of this kind, and that gwenyth paltrow movie i chanced upon on hbo the other day) and why? precisely because it's a lost art. and this facinates us because we don't usually encounter things like these anymore.

but what would there be left to say? i don't believe one has to be articulate or so eloquent to be able to pull something like this off. it's not just the words. it's the voice that makes them real.

i heard voices when i re-read the series. not griffin and sabine's, but mine being one of them. it's as if i was sabine, and she stole my words, because those are the words i would personally choose in the event i would bare my soul to him.

hearing that my existence eased your pain made my heart race. we have found one another, and i give thanks.

sometimes willpower alone cannot make things happen.

i wonder if we will ever understand how and why we are linked. griffin, why try? let us simply take pleasure in each other.

you cannot turn me into a phantom because you are frightened. you do not dismiss a muse at whim.

a little more waiting will do me no harm.

i'm holding the string end, and i won't allow you to disappear into oblivion.

it seems to me that you are in the process of growing up right now. that, amongst other reasons, is why i'm waiting for you.

will you meet me there? will you leave everything behind so that we can be together? do not hesitate, my love. i am filled with so much hope.

if only i were that brave.

there is a love letter under my matress, which i would only send either when i'm insane, brave or angry enough to do so. as of yet, my martyr sensibilities are still getting the better of me.

as for my project, i'm having second thoughts about it, the waves of bantock's writing still washing over me. although i will be doing this personal project with a friend (as trust is an important factor in this), and this is supposed to be a work of fiction, i am afraid of how much of myself i will expose. but maybe, as a writer, this would be my test.

my voice would be heard.

should i still go through with it?

i await the right voice to encourage or discourage me to go through this, or better yet (wishfully thinking), write me an honest to goodness love letter.

till then, the queen of unsent letters will still keep writing.

maybe you should, too. and if you're brave enough, go ahead and send it.



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