Apollo's Mistake

 

Dear Kylie,

 

 

When did we first agree to remain disconnected and out of reach?

 

There were the failures and the brooding and the expectations, the remnants of an incomplete bridge of youth.

 

We are imperfect. But there was also the voice that never departed. It told me endlessly of how treasured the letters of your name are to me. 

 

The print of your existence in mine...It has fled from between the fingers of flaw and error. Because it was not hand-made. It was no tradition nor was it forced in fear of being alone. It was a gift from my God.

 

I came to you naked. Wearing on my soul the pages of a book I dearly loved and read over and over. And over.

 

Kylie, your memory is slightly similar to a dying star; consuming and destroying itself within me. It slowly exhales all its magnificent colors as it nears its death in order to keep me living. The blue in your eyes like the open sea; calm but insane. The gold in your hair like the sun; warm but distant. The fireflies in the forests are embarrassed to compare to the lights of your joy and those of your inner child.

 

How long has it been since I last touched a paper and dropped on it the ink of enchanted worlds and beautiful women and genies and heroes and dreams that can never die?

 

Two years ago, I wrote a story about two lovers. They each began to grow out of their shells and baby-skin and separations, closer towards the heart of the other. My enthusiasm was a flame and my ideas were the rain. I immersed in writing for myself. I wandered and laughed and my cup of joy overflowed when I used to show you. 

"Read this for me. You will find my spirit in between the lines."

 

One day, I turned into stone and my pen dried. I had lost my muse. And I had lost who I thought I was. All of it peeling and crumbling and letting itself be swept by the wind; ashes and dirt and eyelids.

 

It was the day we said our goodbyes.

 

I learned the hard way that loving someone would mean the opposite of what many of us believed. We are quite used to chasing those who run from our embrace, desperately hoping they had not seen the true shape of our soul.

 

" Look at me again," we say, " I am here. I am beautiful. And I want to be with you."

 

I had made the mistake of Apollo. And I remember the time I told you of their story; she was delicate and he was thirsty for her. And as they both ran, the Gods heard her prayer. Shortly after, it was heard across the waters and trees- the woes of the Sun god. Who knew, my everlasting friend, that even the Gods, powerful, immortal and beautiful ,also had hearts that could hurt and tear unevenly.

 

Today, I watch you chase another. From the moment you spoke of her brilliance, I knew she was not to stay. I have seen how much you had loved her, and I could sense her love for you as well. But she is lost in between many things, and you were caught in the middle. But one day, she will come. The woman who will burn together with you; You and her in one fire. And this time, it will be a fire that neither of you fear nor devour in mindless hunger. There will be maturity and faithfulness, and there will also be a time for play and dance around the hot shades; orange and yellow and white. Be patient, sweet Kylie.

 

You will never read my letters again. So, I write them with all that I can find of my heart (I haven't found all the pieces yet) Maybe, by writing to you, I start to think, I will remember - little by little - how to write wonderful adventures again. Ones that fill my lungs and take me home.

 

As I fold my first letter to you and tuck it inside this light-colored envelope, I listen gently to my fears. "You spill words in vain." they tell me. 

 

Will I ever be able to become a storyteller again? Will I ever learn to love after I've loved you? 

 

 

Sincerely,

 

~Rain.

Reviews

[Barbara Walker]

Oh, my. If it were appropriate, I'd give you a standing ovation. But whereas, that is usually considered an appreciation of greatness, in this case, I think it would be an insult. You have communicated THE depths of soul. A pure truth that many would be scared to reveal. You do it so bravely, so eloquently. I appreciate the guts it took, she said, rather crudely...your loss is palpable.

[Coyote Poetry]

Amazing set-up of the story. I liked the use of the letter form. Great story line and characters. I look forward to reading more. The thoughts and the description held me to the last words. Thank you for sharing the excellent chapter.
Coyote

[StarNinja]

Rain! It's great to see you writing again! But Holy Mackerel what a way to start a hiatus. In matters of the heart, I am no expert, but I am glad to see you reaching again towards the pen, the keyboard, the typewriter, the hammer and chisel. I have no doubt there is an endless well within you of stories waiting to told. It is my sincere hope that you will find your way toward it. Welcome back :)