A Letter

As I write this letter, I cannot help but think of the time which is to be wasted on an endeavor to elaborately bring to life just the way I've felt about you and our times together.  You will never see the passion in my eyes or the sorrow in my voice as it comes to it's ending.  Because, no matter how this letter may come across as being directed towards you, it is, in the end, more for me.  To breath life into a world left decaying as I spend more of my time in lament.  You may recall these events but then again, you may not.  The point to the matter is that I remember these events quite vividly and perhaps it is part of the healing process that I channel them to paper.

On a Saturday afternoon during late September, the chill of autumn was dangerously approaching an early winter, or so such claims are made each year around this time.  I had taken my sketchbook, an easel, and a small assortment of pastels, mostly of cool earthen tones, to Willowcrest Park because they were known for their beautiful trees.  My original goal on that day was simply to try and capture an entire sketchbook of quick images of the reddening trees before the leaves fell completely to the ground.  For the better part of the afternoon, my goal continued unabated.  Each image would reach a point I would consider myself complete and I would move onto the next spot.  The chill in the air added color to my normally pale face as the heat from my breath made it's impact on the world visible with each passing moment.

I had found a nice spot looking down one of the jogging pathways.  The weather had chased away most of the exercise nuts but occasionally a heavily bundled individual panting their own cloud coverage would come jogging along the path.  Their presence was fleeting so I could easily jump back to the task at hand.  Imagine my surprise as a tall female made her way into my drawing.  She wore a sensible black tweed trenchcoat with a small black stocking cap.  Tufts of her short blonde hair  peaked out from underneath the cap, capturing the sensual nature of a younger Meg Ryan.  Her eyes captivated my attention with they blazingly bright hazel colors as her leisurely pace reflected the style in which she smoked a cigarette.

I was so trapped in my attempts to capture her essence that I simply didn't notice as she approached me.  She leaned down, observed my work for a slight moment before startling me with a comment.

“My, I had no clue this outfit would match this moment so perfectly.”

I looked up, instantly entranced by your eyes.  Why you had chosen to approach me was beyond my ability to understand in that moment, where all speech was caught in my lunges, stiffled by the overwhelming sensual energies of a goddess.  You drove my infatuation further as you unleashed a curt smile before asking if you could keep the drawing.  As much as I wanted to bow to your wishes right then and there, I knew, would I have handed it over, you would go on your way and I would never again have a chance to peer deeply into your eyes.

I used the excuse of needing to set the pastels to stay with you if only for a few minutes longer.  We had made our way back to my studio where I took the picture back into the framing shop and began to spray the image with fixative as I could feel your presence consuming the drudgery of the room.  I turned as you shed your coat to reveal sleek, body curving clothes which would seem at home in the Lane Bryant collection.  I was frozen in the moment as you made your way to me.  As you kissed me, I could taste the cigarettes and sweet wine on your breath to create a completely enrapturing toxin that I eagerly inhaled.  You pulled your arms along my back in an embrace as I lost myself, body and soul, to you.

As the morning came, you were already gone.  I frantically searched for the drawing of you and discovered it was long gone.  I could still taste the sweet wine in my mouth as I collapsed on the floor, feeling completely empty of any purpose.  It wouldn't be for hours until I finally regained the strength to try and eat something.  I made my way to a small open air cafe down the street from the studio.  Memories of that night consumed my thoughts and I have never yearned for another person the way I did for you in that moment.  I felt as if we had spent a lifetime together just to have it all end with no warning or way to say goodbye.

No food on the menu could possibly fulfill what I really hungered for and the idea of food itself began to sicken me.  I felt a sadness overwhelm me suddenly as my jaw tightened and my chest grew heavy.  How could this be?  I knew you for mere hours and I didn't even know your name.  In fact, looking back, I never mustered the courage to discover it.  I quickly placed an order of a double expresso and a single biscotti.  As soon as the waitress was beyond visual range, I began to sob heavily.  Then and there, I couldn't possibly imagine a life without you.  I kept seeing your piercing eyes wherever I went.  Once I had finished my expresso, I made my way back to the studio.

I did the only thing I could think of.  I took my images of your from my mind and placed them on canvas.  Over the course of seven whole days, I worked tirelessly, immortalizing your visage in all fashions my stricken heart would allow.  With each finished picture, I yearned for you more.  That's my as night approached, your cruelest action was returning.  You looked around the room as if it was a shrine in your image.  Ran your fingers across the surface of each painting without a single word or even glance towards me.  

“For the longest time, I have not been an object of worship.  I have become your world?”  I was drowning in your presence as I nodded slowly.  You cupped my face in your tender hands before leaning forward with a kiss.  The familiar taste of sweet wines and cigarettes overtook me as your touch held the luxurious but cold embrace of polished marble.  Before we could go further, I asked your name.  When you answered, Aphrodite, I considered how perfectly named a person could be.  In your embrace, I felt an endless sexuality that allied itself to your legendary namesake.  

I clung to your throughout the night, refusing to allow you the chance to slip away once again so as morning came, you grew more restless.  Do looked at me with the eyes of a predator, a stare with held no more compassion or love, but merely annoyance at a clinging plaything.  Your words managed to cut deeper than your absence.

“I may have become your world, but you are not mine.”

You forced your way from my arms and began to get dressed.  Sorrow began to choke the air from my lunges as I watched you prepare to leave me once again.  You gave me one last looked before saying, “Hephaestus is expecting me.”  As casually as you entered my world, you left it.  I had a void within myself, an endless vacuum, that nothing else could fill.  As weeks passed, I had given up on my artwork and visits to the park.  Soon the time passed became months as I hid myself from the world.

I am now on in years, knowing you'll never return.  While I had forced myself to tolerate the taste of other foods, nothing could compare to the lingering memories of sweet wines and cigarettes.  In my younger days, I would consider you a blessing to have been in my life but now, as I approach the end as all your mortal lovers do, I remember how cruel and unloving the gods of old truly were.