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I am becoming a slave to your letters. My pulse races every time I see that I have a letter from you on my computer. I shut off the telephone and ignore the world around me for the few minutes I take to read them slowly, trying to imagine your voice with every word.I want to open myself up for you and let you know every thing there is to know about me, but the details of my life are more than I can put into words in a letter for you to know who I really am... so if you have any questions you wish to ask me about my life - I will answer them for you openly and honestly.
I hope you know by now that I am not as serious and dark as I make myself out to be - I can also be quite silly at times... you’ve seen that... I like making you laugh. You are way to serious... If I promise to make you laugh more... do you promise to lighten up a little when I am not around? If I promise to think less... will you promise to sing to me more... the way you do some times at night when you try to distract yourself from those strange random thoughts that wandered into your mind from some other realm where angels and devils throw snowballs at each other laced with kisses and sighs and teardrops from eyes that fell in love at first sight... I get them too... they come in from the window... fallen from butterfly wings... You don’t have to sing... you could hum a gentle tune of your own design... and let the last note linger in the air like a whisper that gets lost on its way to the moon... distracted by the smell of the sea. If I promise to respond to your letters quicker and more often... will you promise to leave fragments of poetry, signed with your kiss, scattered about the city where those who hunger for love can find them and save them in little tin boxes for nights when God may be tending to his children on the other side of the universe... If I promise not to be so mysterious... do you promise not to push me into a conversation I do not want to have... and let us sit in silence... lost in the rhythm of the breath we take in and out... lost in the tempo of our hearts beating in the low light of the this computer screen... lost in the crescendo of the rising lust... you inspire...
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” you asked - I believe in destiny... I believe in lust... I believe in desire... and hunger... and the passion and the pain... and the moonlight and the rain... I believe in dreams and that angels scheme to make it harder for me to prove myself to my God... I believe... somewhere in the night the devil believes he will be redeemed if he helps a scoundrel like me find love... but I suppose I can be persuaded to believe in love at first sight... or something close to it...
I dreamed of you a few nights ago - There was a storm and I had laid down by an open window to listen to the rain fall and I had fallen asleep. In the dream I was back in Chicago walking down State Street, I was looking for a book store to buy some maps - but I don’t know why, had I planned a trip to Moscow... or Budapest? Suddenly it started to shower and as my luck always plays games with me the faster I walk the herder it falls - I was wearing my rain coat but I had no umbrella... I was drenched by the rain... through the chaos and storm I spied a coffee house on a crowded corner floating above the shoulders of those mindless conformist that laugh at mad men wrapped in cardboard boxes shouting that Jesus saves to the world... I made my way to it to get some hot tea and dry up a little and wait for the rain to subside. Sitting in the café, listening for a familiar rhythm in the storm outside... a song or a poem I may have misplaced in some far away bordello in Buenos Aires or Monte Video... perhaps finding its way back to me... I took out my journal from my rain coat and began to write you a letter... when you sat down beside me... I was surprised to see you... but you did not know who I was... we began a conversation and you told me you had come to Chicago to look for - censored - you described me and told me everything you knew about me... you spoke of me with tenderness and affection... I wanted to let you know that I was - censored - and that I was the one you were looking for... I was sitting right in front of you ... but you were in such a hurry to find me that you left as suddenly as you had arrived... I watched you walk out into the storm... like a ship that surrenders itself to the tide I watched you float out of sight... I felt a little empty inside, but I shook my head smiling - the way I do when I dismiss that little voice inside my head that tries to whisper the secrets of the universe to me when I am in the middle of a conversation with men much smarter than I...
As I write this letter it is raining outside... I do not know if this is the letter I want to send you... I have spent most of the day answering letters that should have been answered long ago... I still have to write eMi and Dutch, and I have to call Carlos... about that thing in that place with the guy... or perhaps I’ll just sit here in the light glow of this computer screen and listen to the rain fall... and try to find a familiar rhythm... a song or poem I may have misplace in some far away massage parlor in Hong Kong or Singapore... I will read your letter once more before I lay down to rest and dream of you in your city by the sea... are you thinking of me? Are you vandalizing the margins of history books in libraries and bookstores with dramatic endings that consist of men that look like Captain Rhett Butler taking some haughty princes in his arms and consuming her with desire before he sails off to conquer more lands filled with gold for a king that does not deserve to be one... are you tearing out pages from poetry books and placing them in travel books with ripped out pictures from girly magazines? Are you walking down the beach tossing the shells you collected back into the sea? Are you sitting in the lounge of some hotel with a bottle of bourbon or scotch, hiding words of passion and lust in a letter for someone across the sea... if by chance... it could be for me...
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