Brett Yang has a few unsent letters for Eddy Chen, talking about things be usually wouldn't. It gets forgotten since they've been married for ten years now.
warnings: expletives, fluff but angst is present but not really
Brett's POV
March 7, 2010
Dear Eddy,
Everything comes with a price. Even if you are triumphant, there is a sense of emptiness after you have conquered what you thought you were supposed to. The void does not get filled unless you have found what you have been longing for. Some people never knew what love was until the day that they die.
They say that love, truth, beauty and freedom will fill the void. The love poems of writers, the truth in love, the beauty of love and the liberation felt with love; they say that love will fill the void. Isn't it just an excuse to find something just so you can't be empty?
From a writer's perspective, these are all the things that will make you feel full, completed even. My logical side tells me that anything could fill the void as long as you believe that it does. Maybe it's true. I can choose the illusion of the truth effect to live but it does not justify that nothing can truly fill the emptiness inside of us. It is not pessimism, rather it's the truth.
Even if I know that nothing fills the void, I still succumb myself to poetry. I still succumb myself to romanticizing and manipulating words just so I could fill the emptiness of other people. Being empty is not a reason to let other people feel the same way.
I want you to hold on to something that seems real. I hold onto my writings because it feels like the realest thing in the universe.
Sincerely yours,
Brett Yang
- - - - - - - - - -
September 24, 2010
Dear Eddy,
The heaviness of it all consumes me. It makes me feel alive. It seems as though those words are my blood flow, those words are my oxygen, those words are the butterflies in my stomach, those words are my headache, those words are my heartbreak, but those words, they are not me. Those words are simply masks that conceal me from this cruel world. I am allowing myself to feel liberation from the words.
Eddy, it all comes down as to why I've allowed myself to be like this. I want to say that I'm doing this for everyone else, but I would be lying. I know that I'm doing it for myself. To feel same, to keep me stable, stay grounded; all of this so I could feel human. Let me just say that you're the best thing in keeping me alive but I know I can't hold on to you. You're in love with another.
I even went and wrote poetry about him, the one that I have claimed to love. Little did I know that you're truly the one I love. My friends tell me that I'm always the poet and never the poem. Eddy, I don't like being written down or maybe the fact that poetry is too beautiful to be me.
When you try to write a poem about me, it will be far from beautiful and majestic. Poems are about anything and I'm a poem that cannot be started, finished nor read. I write the poems because it's easier that way.
I know the feeling of being a poem. He tried so hard to make it beautiful, to make it art. It never turned out like that, though. It turns out that I'm more like phrases, impromptus said while angry and words that are incoherent after hours of crying. I am an incomplete thought that's only complete with the thought of you. I am chaos and reality.
YOU ARE READING
con bravura acceso - twoset one shots
FanfictionYou don't kiss your best friend on the neck and have them weak by the time it's over. It's funny like that, isn't it? You do all these things and I allow you to do so. I wouldn't have allowed this a few years ago. But what can I say? Everyone chang...
