Letter to my Better Cause
I'm writing this on my whiteboard
because I'm tired of drawing up lists to care about
so I've erased them all,
and because I know you never read my letters anyway.
Lately, dear Cause, I've not been by your side.
I've been distracted.
You know how I get pulled into things, right?
I think it's because I care and they know it,
so they make the most of it,
and draw me in.
I promise you it has nothing to do with trending hashtags or sexy likes.
I genuinely care.
You know that, don't you,
from all the poems I wrote for you
back in the day
when you were fresh-faced and shy?
I know you never read them. It hurt me so much.
You know it did. That's why
I had to turn away.
Tell me, dearest Cause,
for you are still my fairest, my first,
which lover will hang around when the love letters he sat up all night to write
are not read -
not even once?
I held the placard in the scorching sun all day in the hope that you will see my pain.
I walked in the night and shouted out your name thinking that you will hear it
and you will know -
I truly cared.
Believe me, I still do.
I know what you will say, my Cause.
Maybe I should have waited for more than two successive weekends.
Maybe I should have given you another chance.
But shouldn't you have looked at me, just once?
All I needed was one shot.
I even wore my Ray-Ban for you, the one that's so special I never wear it in the sun.
The cameras never panned my way.
None of the mikes asked me how I felt.
I had no choice,
no cause to stay.
I feel so sad.
I don't even know which corner of my heart you live in anymore.
But, believe me, I really care.
I'm afraid I'm a little lost.
I think I may be starting to feel something,
a strange tingling in my chest.
It could be angina
but I think it may be the real thing.
I've never felt this way before.
I want to give up stuff.
I want to write
but I don't seem to care if the meter is proper
or my name is spelt right.
I feel like shrieking from rooftops.
I think it might be rage.
I find myself staring for hours at my whiteboard -
this whiteboard -
for things to do,
to keep my head from hurting.
This morning it had only two -
I needed to launder my clothes for Monday,
and get a good night's sleep.
It's two in the morning now,
I haven't washed my clothes and it's too late to sleep,
but i dont seem to care.
I think I'm going crazy.
It's been this way for a few days now,
ever since I heard about her,
and what they did to her.
Every single day,
I try to recover myself,
draw up lists of other things to care about.
But my board remains white.
This may be my last letter to you.
This time, I will not ask -
like I did so many times before -
will you be my Cause?
This time, I'll try to be hers.
I'm so angry that I'm so happy that I'm so sad to let you go.