#DearAbi Golden

Dear Abi,

Sometimes I drop into a deep abyss of darkness, caught in a mental whirlpool where for those few seconds I can’t see the future and all but forget the past. But the present is like the dark side of the moon. Some would call me bipolar, some would say moody but you always had the thought to ask me what is wrong.

I never told you about this habit where I startle at 2am in the morning from my deepest of slumbers in the hope that one day I will wake next to somebody. In some quarters they would call it pathetic, some would say romantic and others would ask me to see a shrink but being the wise man I am I’ve kept it to myself. Till today; as you guessed correct it’s 2am. There is something about feeling like the only human awake, solitude in lonesomeness. The moon shines through my bedroom window, feeling so close like I can whisper my deepest of secrets into it’s ears.

The valentine season is finally over. *sighs. The problem with us humans is that we can take the most noble of ideas or concepts and turn it into something all about us. Capitalism. Take what we did to Christmas. Who even celebrates the birth of Christ these days. Anyway, I digress. This valentines was all about the women in my life. I think as men if we just think of our girlfriends and wives on valentines it makes us too myopic. Valentines is for our mothers, sisters, aunts and daughters too.

Silence. There were moments when we just wanted to talk for hours. Those moments when we were trapped in a time capsule and hours seemed like minutes gone by. Sometimes I wish for those moments when I would wake to your text or you’d be the first person I wished good morning. Three letters down the line I guess there is no return mail in heaven. So this will be the last of my letters to you. Guess the third time is the charm.

Chrisette Michele’s sultry voice over Golden seems to capture this dark moment. “Take me back to the days when loving was pure…” I have this thing where I hope somebody will read these letters 20 years down the line and make a book out of it lest we become forgotten. I hope the noose won’t have succeeded in its constant battle with my neck.

Regards

Tom.

Original post here from 18th Feb 2013