open letter1

The grime that embraced the tiles of the comfort room may have heard your sobs but I can assure you, they did not listen. Why the hell would the sleeping roaches under the toilet tank listen to the echoes of your cries? You may think that the yellow-splashed wall may have deadened the sound of your repressed emotional outburst, but even those walls have had enough drama bounced to them that they cannot absorb anymore angst or cry.

I knew these things for I frequently use the place for more than a year. Though I never dared to seek refuge on that grime-filled room, the miasmic fumes coming from the humid walls were enough reasons for me to tell that much emotion has happened there.

For almost two hours, all I can see from the slits of the door were your hair strands. I kept on telling you to unlock the door and speak to me but you never listened. I wanted to console you with my arms but you chose to be embraced by the humid air of the room. I haven’t thought that the room’s air could give anyone comfort. Although the soporific air of the dawn persistently tried to knock me down, the thought of you being soaked in sweat and tears kept me awake. I certainly cannot bear to hear your faint sobs over the door slits. If only I have the power to unhinge the door, I would take you away from that dreaded room in an instant. But then I should have never distracted you from your moment of solitude. I was so insensitive to have not realized your need for space during that time. Sorry. I honestly do not know what to say or how to say things. I was again intoxicated by my anger over some uncontrollable things.

Well, two rounds from the clock were worth the wait. I listened to your soft heartbeats and felt your faint spirit. The isolation must have taken much of your energy. I just hope that the grime and dirt did not embrace the remaining light of love in you.

I love you.
Let us talk after you recovered form the air of depression.