Dear Pho,
I can’t believe it’s been almost a week since we were last together, since I was able to wrap my loving arms around you and draw you to me without fear of the stares and whispers of an unappreciative society. Each day has felt like an eternity for me. I miss your warmth, comforting me and assuring me that the world isn’t all about pain and disappointment. I miss your delicate scent and the way you taste on my lips, all exotic and full of spice. You are a forbidden fruit waiting to be plucked by the innocent. Or maybe you’re an innocent flower waiting to be ravaged by passing hordes? Your history is a mystery to me. Your depth is unimaginable. Your beauty knows no bounds. I am amazed by how easily you can fill me up with passionate satisfaction and yet leave me hungering for more.
I know, deep in my heart, that this can never last, that we can never spend an eternity together. Our lives are fickle things. The way we pass in and out of each other’s circles, flirting with forever, reaching for unattainable heights, following our self-designed paths while always looking over our shoulders to see where the other is traveling as well. It’s not a healthy thing for us to pursue this romance. We both know the truth. Desire fades with familiarity. Words unspoken would soon turn to grief. A fit of rage. A flurry of sideways glances. The fear I harbor from society’s refusal to acknowledge our pairing would soon manifest itself in my own fear of commitment, of a loss of choice. There are better ways to live, I would say to you. There are other things we could do, other people we could involve our time with.
You would suggest that we try something different. Let’s expand our horizons, you devilishly infer. Add an extra dash of sriracha to the depths of your bowl. Squeeze another wedge of tart lime across your surface and watch the acidic tang mingle with the rich saltiness of your natural bounty, tantalizing bubbles and streaks bringing shivers to our souls. Maybe we bring in another player? A spring roll, wearing its see-through covering like a proud badge of temptation and possibility? It dips into you. You wrap yourself around it. I taste you both, my head a swirl of emotion and conflict. It’s all so new, so unknown, I reply.
But will that change anything in the long run? Will it solve our problems? We are too alike, too set in our ways. We cross like comets. Our orbits intersect and the world sees sparks inspired by cilantro and onion and beef and sprouts, but the moment is only temporary. And then we’re gone. I’m left in a heap on the living room floor. My belly is bulging with noodle-y goodness. You’ve left me again.
I love you, Pho. And I always will. Please come back to me again, forever.
deadbeatjones.wordpress.com 