A Letter to Neruda

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Neruda, 
 
So tell me, how do you forget the person who has erased you from his life like you were a misplaced curve in a canvas? 
 
Was it easy forsaking the sky that rained your roots to thrive? Or, did you close your eyes and pretend the blue horizon came tumbling down that night forbidding the sun to ever grace the atmosphere again? 
 
Was forgetting easy? 
 
How many spaces and pages did she occupy before you could finally stop the metaphors of hurt from flowing out of your ink? 
 
How many days had passed before the mention of her name stopped triggering memories? Tell me you were lying when you said, when she started forgetting you little by little – you started forgetting too little by little. 
 
Tell me it isn’t so because when i felt the coldness blew in, i refused to wrap myself in its chills and flared red with my ink. Still the fire was swallowed by too much fear, hesitation and lack of faith. I was left with the truth that there are battles you can not fight alone. 
 
I should just have listened to you but i guess, i was never the listening type. I’m sorry i let your words be strangled between my ambitious hopes and invalid dreams. 
 
So Neruda, he has chosen to forget and I’m not sure if it’s little by little or all at once. Either way, the thought of it makes me want to sail towards sunset and sink and curl my spine towards knees. 
 
Maybe, I’ll find this untameable feeling drowning and may it never rise again.

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