This can’t be a poem… not anymore. I was quick to turn this into prose when I realized that the poems I wrote for E were starting to become a drug (for me, at least). Those poems, they were about to turn my fascination into an obsession the way you turn innocent liking into love.
The shroud of mystery always has its effects to the confused. I am. Every time I try to explain the idea behind, over, under, and inside a poem it’s a dead giveaway. Yes I am confused, lost even. I am wandering, about to fall into a lovely pit where questions outnumber answers and emotion can outshine the light of insight.
So who is she? Who is ‘E’? People ask and instead of giving answers, I smirk and pretend that I don’t know. Half of it isn’t just pretension though; it’s true, I don’t know E. I will never know E.
E is an idea of my own making. But I fell in love with her anyway. Expectedly. I fell in love first, got interested second. I plunged way before I thought of jumping. I was in too deep way before I touched the water.
I smiled even before I knew that deep down in me the feeling was special.
E is an ideal, the epitome of perfection. A woman whom I have never met before, never will I meet ever. Perhaps for a good reason, perhaps it’s only right for me to meet her in my dreams. The the kind of dreams that you rarely remember… the kind that evokes the deepest kind of feelings you only get from the kind of people you never forget.
I named her ‘E’ for a lot of reasons. ‘For E’ was originally ‘Forever’, a word I had to cut in half for forever is too great the length to strive for that I’d rather settle for half of it. For E, and the same goes with ‘For E(ternity)’.
As E exists in me so it could also be that I am writing to me. As if to remind me about love. As if to remind me that deep down inside, in the most secret chambers of my heart, there exists an idea, a girl – or a woman – I need to take care of.
In that case I could be ‘Mr. E’, short for mystery.
And I thought I could run around circles and deny the real-life existence of E. I can’t be lying to myself now. E is perfection, yes. But I met her before. One lovely morning in a very lovely place where memories of my childhood remain youthfully intertwined with my life at the moment.
I see her around every once in a while, oftentimes admiring her in secret. Oftentimes trying so hard that she would not discover who she really is to me. Unrequited admiration that is dangerously bordering despair and excruciating devotion.
It’s the kind of admiration that never gives up hope. The kind that waits as if to say that in this world, there are a few things that you’ll never get over with. A few things, like your smile.
E is for everything.