“How I can paint with words”


 

I’ve been meaning some time now to write you a letter. A long letter…I was making a scheme in my head what to write but probably none of that you will find in this particular letter. Yes! As with letters, the words might or might not have a meaning. Yet, still I will write it, I cannot beat the paradox of the meaningless of words especially while the ocean breeze is moving my senses. So, who cares about paradoxes or of what I have say or not say in this letter. Regardless, I m writing it since words swirl one after another incessantly like an old ship anchor chain and I cannot just stop, doesn’t feel right, because words are heavy yet meaningless.

I have to say I was quite careful not to be pathetic though, since letters might have overtone of a  melodrama, especially if they are love letters. However, still I decided that I will write you a letter, with words which have meaning and no meaning in the same time; a letter devoid of pathetics but with a slight tone of poetics.  Poetics I like cause I can pretend that I did not know I am smuggling bit of madness similar to drunken sweaty pirat out of whom rum is evaporating and spreading out  in the air under the burning sun while he is burping – a sequence that intents to give to this letter a bit realistic undertone.

You, you don’t have an address on which I can send this letter when I’ll finish it. Still, I am writing it knowingly that I have to leave the address – blank. I’m kind of positive that you will receive it somehow. Of course, you have a name but I am wondering whether I should leave you anonymous in order to keep the things under suspense or I should name you as a character of a comedy or melodrama. I don’t like tragedies so I m consciously avoiding name of a tragedy character. Apart you are not tragedy character although I could call you Frida, due to the scene with the bathtub you performed for me the other night. A completely banal scene captured in between aesthetics of your body and the bathtub.

If I were a painter I could paint it and would have been a bright replica of Kalho’s “What Water Gave Me”. You know there is distinctness in your character with that of Frida, since I see light in your appearance. It is in the stillness of your body that this light becomes more apparent. It could it be your infectious smile, while the sparkles in your eyes spread out through the ether capturing every atom possible, or the way you hold your head and move it sometimes completely unnoticed for a human eye while your neck vibrates in the rhythm, or the way you bite the angle of your lower lip while you are thinking, or the sound of the passing air while you are breathing, or maybe the scent of your breadth. Could be your melancholia as well, which softens your face by letting the wandering unsettling spirit to be seen. Or, could it be your eyes full of horizon that unveil other worlds, probing but yet gentle that sometimes speak of an earthy pain and fear.

Could be many other things seen and unseen and probably you’d wonder what I mean by that while you read this letter, if it reaches you somehow though. If it will, this letter will land on the window of your hopes. However, before you’ll get to the hope you will have to understand Who Am I that I am writing you this letter, because I am character as well.  Anonymous, but yet someone who knows you, thus I have a name and birthplace. Perhaps you will try to guess Who Am I, maybe you would like to meet me in person, or track me down even, or let your imagination wonder around. Everything of this is a possible option, but still you have to be aware that sometimes words don’t have meaning and it is in this meaningless that I can paint with words.

 

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