DEAR HEATHER

DEAR HEATHER,

Permit me to be as informal as one can be. I am curious about your wellbeing but I’d like to prioritize myself. I am almost you must asking yourself who I am. You can call this stranger Zoé; I have been admiring that name for a long time now. Being called Life! That could give a peek at how desperately I want to live.

Permit me to rant as much as I can. No, I will rant as much a I can, with or without your permission. That was the whole point of this letter anyway.

Papa’s gone Heather and Mama just left too to join him. What’s left to say when all my dream was built on adding to their shoulder pads?

I will tell you a funny story Heather, about a girl who had rather fulfilled a promise she made to her boyfriend than be at her father’s death bed. I can laugh my eyes to an ocean of blood whenever I remember this story. When pushed by guilt, she tried to convince herself the love was worth it, that he was worth it. I should tell you this part as well, how pushed by guilt she decided to hang on to the worthy love that made her heart bleed as much as her ears. It was then that she knew that she didn’t deserve to be loved. Funny story indeed.

I was once told how I was worth more than gold could possibly think of, how it could only take a smile from me and time would stand still and yes, it’s true, all it can ever take is a smile and life itself would cease. Call me Zoé Heather, I promise I won’t smile.

I once knew a girl with my name who thought she would conquer the world. “I am the LAST OF MY KIND”, she used to say over and again, no matter how much I reminded her we even bore the same name. She indeed was the first and last of her kind, for she was buried alive with her hopes and dreams driving her mad every passing day of unfulfillment.

I have nothing much left to live for. I would love to go and rest in the bosom of my father, I heard the other side is a Xanadu but I dare say I wouldn’t be welcomed for Judas would gain redemption where I stand.

Heather, I sure do enjoy telling you stories and I can go on and on. Perhaps it’s because all my friends have turned strangers that I am ready to make a friend out of a stranger or just because.

I met love Heather, he is white as much as I am black and together, we create a beautiful shade anyone would ever dream of having. Heather, we are two lost souls in this world seeking comfort in the warmth of each other. The only problem? I self-sabotage. Who would question a love so strong that as blinded that we are, we can see it? We see our weaknesses and vow to be each other’s strength. We accept our faults and argue in love. “It’s too good to be true” seems to be the only thing crazily sane enough to disturb my calm. I create a storm where there is none and every time, he speaks peace. One day he would realize his lonely desperate heart is better off lonely and desperate and that would surely validate my fears for I have always told me so.

I would leave you here with these tales, I am not one to overload. I prefer stories to be processed and savoured because that’s how they should to be treated.

Heather, it has been a pleasure. I have no idea if you share the same and probably do not want to know. Be good Heather, one of us has to be.

A Stranger,

Zoé