Dear Sam,
I wrote you something good. I wrote you a letter on yellow paper, longhand. I followed the margins carefully, kept it tidy---as you like it tidy. I wrote it the way they taught us how to write letters in grade school, with the date and place and time on the upper right part of the page, except that I made sure I wouldn’t scare you with my grade schooler’s penmanship; not making the lower case letters look like screaming capital letters. I also made sure that my periods didn’t look like commas, and my commas didn’t look like drowning letter i’s as they usually do. I wrote it in class while my professor was plotting Foucault’s panopticon on the whiteboard. He drew it so badly I had to write something else. I wrote you something. And I think it was my best.
I wrote you of the day we talked about Hemingway lost at sea while eating the whole fish from Dampa the two of us couldn’t finish. I wrote you of us, that day we slow danced---my first slow dance ever---alone in my room as George sang Something for us on my player. I wrote you, in italics, how gracefully the street lights glide from your hands on your knees, to your arms, to your face every time I drive you home. I wrote you a letter which sang of feelings I’ve yet to tell anyone else. Feelings I’ve never written down. Feelings I only admitted to myself then. I wrote you something. And I think it was my best.
I folded it thrice, lengthwise, crosswise, then diagonally. I taped it under a desk, not mine, so I’d forget where I placed it. It’s there. Somewhere. I wrote you something, Sam, and yes, I think it was my best.
Let me try, now, to write that letter again. Remember the same words, use the same punctuations, work the same syntax, make the same sense, and hope it would tell the same. Let me fail once. Let me fail again. Let me fail again and again and again and again. Let every attempt be second best. On the day that you find that I’ve written my best, don’t tell me that you’ve read it. Tape the letter under a desk and tell me you lost it. And I’ll gladly try again.
Yours,
DLSP
(Love Letter Writing THIRD PLACE : Dino Pineda, 4th year CW, UP Writer's Club)
This is ohmigahd. What's not there to like love? It's amazing how people could express
so much just by writing a few sentence. I just wish things would work out well for both of them. kyaaaaaa~
