Last midnight I went into the jungle. Again. Painfully nostalgic the trip was. If only I could talk about it with someone other than myself. See if you can connect the dots in the following text.
It’s raining. It’s cold. But I swear I’ll not move an inch from this place. No, not even if I get sick. Alright, now listen.
I still love you. Not that I love you more than anything else that exists, you’re the only one I love, or even like. You had been the keystone of the bridge that connected my mind with my soul. Without you, all the understanding I had of this life and this world perished and left me standing clueless in this black meaningless world.
Phony were your promises and fictitious was your existence. Did I ever object? I continued singing for you, every dawn, every dusk. I kissed your feet over and over many times every day for years. Do you remember that? And do you remember when I asked the flying birds to take my messages to you and, in return, bring back yours? And that night when I locked myself in my room and cried before you for hours and beseeched for forgiveness for not being loyal enough to you? Such was my love. Blind. Unconditional. Limitless.
Alas! If only I hadn’t gone beyond the limits you had drawn. Please forgive me. Please come back and vanquish my rationality. I’ll wipe off all that dwells in my head and make ample space for you to live again. I’ll present my existence, my soul to you. Again. Because I still love you.
I swear I do.