Letter 4

Dear you,

I know you receive my letters typed up, but they rarely start like that. Often, it’s just me, an old-school yellow pencil, and my plain, basic notebook. Nothing fancy. I don’t like fancy.

Tonight, I lie on my stomach with my chin planted on my pillow as I write to you from bed. I have my lamp on; it provides the company of a soft yellow glow and brings me to a relaxed state.

Have you had a good day?

If the answer is no, I ask, why? If the answer is yes, I still ask, why?

You know the saying, one person’s garbage is another’s treasure? It goes something like that, right?

Anyway, someone, somewhere, went through their books and gave one away at the borrow library (where you can give away books you no longer want and borrow another). Not long ago, I brought in a few books myself, and today, after a walk in the city, I stopped by to see if there was anything interesting.

About to continue back home, I found a thin, old book hidden amongst others. I was with my brother, and he so kindly pulled it out for me.

Now, this is not a novel, rather a book that teaches you how to draw figures and faces. This is also not a new book. It is from the 1960s. Had the condition of it not given it away, the women’s and men’s hairstyles most certainly did.

I haven’t drawn something for the sake of drawing in years, nor have I ever given myself a chance to get good. But this evening, after I got home from the walk, I sat in my room for a couple of hours with no distraction of a phone or laptop. I sat at my desk and drew a woman. Nude. Now, she hangs on my bedroom wall. Her backside faces me, exposing her butt and the hint of one breast. Her hand rests on her side, and her head is turned as she subtly calls the one she loves. 

Years ago, I would have never let myself draw such a thing. It would have been completely inappropriate in my mind. It’s funny how people change. Their opinions, which to them were once facts, vanish as their older eyes see the world with different colors. Their experiences create a new reality.

If I’m being completely honest, though, I wouldn’t tell just anyone about my drawing. I am only sharing this story with you because we don’t know each other’s identities. You will, with time, know much about me, the parts of me that really matter, but you won’t have a face to pin me to. I could be anyone.

Exciting, no?

Anyway, it’s late, and sleep is captivating the will to stay awake with its ever-sweet voice that calls my secreted name.

I laugh. Until next time, lovely stranger.

Yours Truly,

RCG