A letter

Many of us wish if they can write a letter ... put it in a bottle and throw it far away in the deepest darkest oceans... how many letters reached the seashore... and how many ... were actually the seashore to others...


Dear A:
I don’t know why am I writing this letter knowing that you will never read it. But here I am, writing it and maybe one soon day you will get to read it. I hope its never too late though… and I hope its not when that tree we planted will grow really old …
When I think of you I remember a box filled with needles and threads and many other stuff... a box where we had to choose and in many cases I’d be blind enough to prick my finger with a needle and it will bleed.. or an another and it will hurt so badly…or sometimes… you were one of those needles that stitched many of my torn feelings together…mended it…shaped it differently…you unstitched the old ones and replaced them with brand new feelings…and thoughts…and perspective to life… you took it a duty to be my personal “designer” for the rest of those many following years…

Many times those feelings where drenched with tears and you just took them with your secret touch to let them dry out by blowing on them…your warm breath and care brought them back to their normal condition…in some cases you found me on your porch holding them between my hand and they were reckless… yet you always managed to have a way to fix them....your patience was magical…

I wished I had this box…the magical needle…maybe I’d be able to stitch everything back to how it was before…as beautiful and honest and innocent as it was…

I wonder if you will ever read this letter…but if you ever do…one day before that tree dies…before the stars get bored of sending you my wishes…and before the waves decide not to drop my letters on your seashore…I want you to know something…