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Saturday, November 20, 2004

An Open Letter

By: Michael Akerman


Check out the link above the ads in the top bar. It's a video of my E 101 group's water bottle rocket launch.




I wonder at what has been lost, and what's left to gain. This is, in a way, an open letter to a lost love, or perhaps a misplaced love, of mine, but the ambiguity herein allows this to be used for essentially any lost love.

I find myself remembering you often. You take hold of my mind, grapple my intellect and bend it to thoughts of you. I don't avoid it. Rather, I bend willingly. Surely, he who has loved once and looks back with scorn, and does not remember fondly the soft movements, gentle voice, musical laugh, wonderful sentiment of his lot love isn't human. No, I embrace the memories, and they bring joy.

Yet, they leave pain. They are fleeting and ephemeral, as is memory's wont, and I am soon returned to reality. The imperfectness of memory leaves a deep longing, to see that perfect image once more: to hear her voice and laughter, to see her ready smile and form beauteous to the eye, and to listen to those sacred divulgences, those deep and astounding thoughts and feelings, most of all.

And I am set to wonder. Who have I been to her? Was I Lysander to her Hermia, or Demetrius? Worse yet, was I Hermia to her Lysander, or Helena to her Demetrius, begging "spurn me, strike me," loving her recklessly?

But I cannot believe that. She is no Demetrius. Perhaps she was my Juliet, willing as much as I to deny our fathers and forsake our names, if that were asked.

That was then, however. In losing her, I've realized my faults. In my heart of hearts, my true belief is that I was Cyrano to Roxane, too ashamed and confused to confess my love, though it would have been readily accepted. As I watched Christian after Christian woo her, willing their success for her happiness, I knew that they were tainted, fools with no mission but selfishness. To her, and to her alone, falls my white plume. For I think I shall always love her, even if I find another love. The human capacity for love, a final bastion of God's image, is limitless, a depthless pool of inky black, of dry rock yearning for crystalline-sweet water.

Now, it seems by my sword I have slain myself. While life moved on and the world moved her away from me, I lost her through inaction, though I knew the course. The path to regaining her friendship was simple, but I sought a more elegant close. She deserved heavenly perfection, the most beautiful of moments when I bared my heart, and I forsook to do so, biding for that moment. My folly was thinking that that moment could exist. As chances passed by, foolishly I thought a better would come.

Such is the great tragedy of my life: the hero stricken by his own flaw. And I've certainly learned lessons. But, the river of time has flowed past, and upstream is unchangeable. I have followed my fateful course through those rapids, and fell, and slipped. Now, I seek only to apply those lessons to the river ahead.

I know what to do now. Indeed, I've even had practice since. And she is still in my life, if only by the narrowest of threads. The question, though, is what she is to me now.

Does she seek me as I seek her, as the great loves of old? Would she brave the changing course to find me? I don't request it of her. Rather than a Juliet, I seek only a Penelope, who, though surrounded and intruded upon by suitors, waits for me, abiding the weeks, months, years as Odysseus finds her again, ready to greet him with open arms.

But, I accept the possibility that she is Cleopatra to my Caesar, ready to turn to the next Marc Antony she sees. I earnestly hope against it. I fear the most that she thinks herself the Naiad to Hermaphroditus, wondering why I shun her, even though, in truth, I seek her in earnest.

For now, I will do what I can. I can only take the steps allotted me in this dance. I shall wait with bated breath for the decision of fate.




If any would like to use that and adapt it, feel free. If it is sent to someone, I need no recognition. If you link to it on a website, or copy it on a website, I would like recognition, please.

By my hand,
~Michael Akerman

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