About wit



Somehow, I hope you are taking a little break from work at this time to read this. What are the chances you are online now?

When I woke up this morning, I was brightly smiling to your face. I knew you were the special one for me, even though that could have meant different things if one were to analyse it. I told you how I was ready to spend the rest of my life with you. You smiled with so much warmth in your eyes, I almost dropped a tear onto my pillow. Usually it’s my saliva that wets it when I sleep. But you never complain about my drooling, the way I never faulted you for snoring, both of us despite different head/neck positions we had tried. It’s just our queer romantic thing, I guess.

You then asked me what would happen to our love after our lives on earth.

I replied I did not know.

Really, who knows what comes next after? Who has gone and returned to tell us, and why should we believe him/her?

You then sweetly tugged at my warm succulent cheeks. The kind of cheeks a masculine man should not have. I swiftly beat your hands away, telling you sharply not to patronize me. I told you I knew what you would say next. You looked condescending as you smiled lovingly at me, telling me not to be presumptuous. Even now, I can hear you laughing sarcastically at me for judging your look as condescending. I retorted that I knew you would call me shallow. You would say I don’t usually analyse things properly. You would not exactly use the word “shallow”, but would every letter imply it. You act at times as though you understood everything. You had once told me it was just the way your countenance was, and that you really did not regard yourself as very knowledgeable or wise. You should know that your body gestures are important. I had often told you to look in the mirror as you practised your facial expressions. You can never become perfect at understanding or manipulating people if you could not understand yourself, or control your own expressions. Then you tell me that to be more romantic I had to learn to look at issues more closely and clearly. How do you do that! You are so amazing for managing to link intellectual wit with romance.

So, let us be clear.

We had a hot argument this morning because of what would happen to us after we died? Or because of what would happen to our love? Or because you wanted to romantic with words? Or because you wanted me to have given a better and more romantic answer –if only I had thought more deeply of course! Well, how about: “We will never die because God would never want a love like ours to end?” Or, “We would still continue our love in the next realm?” Well, you and I know that you’d sooner throw the second answer out as a painful cliché. You’d then pick on the first one, asking how God would break a core rule of mortality just for our sake. Then the discussion would still hit the rocks!

Am I looking at issues more closely now? Have I been right in my analysis so far? Am I smart enough for you to respect me now? Am I right enough to match your wit now? You know that in a twisted romantic way, I am fatally drawn to your mind?

Because I really need to. Somehow, I am convinced you are the one for me. And we have to be a complementary match.

Will you tell me something different now? Will you be warm towards me? Or will you tell me I have yet again totally misrepresented you, here in the face of the whole world this time?

Well, that would even be if you happen to be online now.



Fatally yours,

12 responses to “About wit

  1. Doc, I hope this ends up well for you. This seems like a set of important questions posed by a formidable intellect. I wish I had some counsel here, but alas, I know for sure that I am not wise or knowledgeable on matters such as this.

    • These were dancing lyrics. Nice!

      I wonder how long you are gonna hold this up for. Someday, I’ll probably make a move you have no response to. You can’t be this good into music! It’s amazing!

      • I may be a little hit and miss at times. Some require a bit of thought. This one seemed to be on point though. Chris Rice is a favorite. He has many thoughtful lyrics and well crafted songs. I really liked the story – you are one of a kind! Peace and blessings be where ever you are. = >

  2. Dear Regular Crazy,

    I’ve been on both sides of your story:

    I write, and am the quick-witted, intelligent woman with a demanding drive to have an intellectual, emotional equal – like your beloved; and I have been as you are, desperately craving my beloved’s attentions and affections, incomprehensibly removed, and so I compose and publish poems, letters, hoping in vain for a response, for some acknowledgement of my feelings and their existence, at the very least.

    I wish I could help… and perhaps this may:

    My ex-husband told me once as I cried in agony that I missed him, that I missed us, that it was not he I missed, but myself.

    Something of that made sense, though I hated it, at the time. I wanted US back. I wanted HIM back, and what I had known and loved of our relationship.

    And yet, as the years continued and I pined over other men after him – and as others have come to pine over me even as I pine for them – I have seen that it IS me I miss.

    In the rhythms of romance and love, we sometimes (even often?) depart for the sake of the other’s comfort and for our own curiosities from what we love – and even perhaps from what the other loved – about ourselves.

    For me, it was my confidence that I discarded, my self-consideration I ignored for the sake of so many of the men I’ve loved. I abandoned my mind at times when it was screaming to be heard; I abandoned my standards at times when my heart was screaming to instead abandon the one I was with.

    And yet… something of us survives.

    Your heart, despite your palpable pain, remains, and all who read your letters can hear you. And she may not read your letters, but we do; and she may not love you for your openness, but we do.

    It may not be much. It may not be what you think you want or need — but you reached out to us as much as – or more than – you reached out to her.

    You have your openness. You have your writing. I do not know what other passions you have, but you, I am certain, have passions. Keep them. Indulge them, especially the ones you have ignored, abandoned, neglected, discarded for whatever reasons — but particularly if you turned from them for the sake of this love.

    And here is one last saving grace, or it has been to me:

    Remember that you loved her enough to keep her, and that she, for whatever pain and difficulty you have suffered, inspired you enough to become your muse.

    What you have written, and the way you have written it — and that you have shared it — is simply beautiful.

    Thank you for sharing, and for reaching out to us, your readers. I am grateful to learn that I am not alone in grieving in this way.

    Much love,

    • Dear Meredith,

      I do not even know how to begin to respond.

      It’s interesting how easily one switches sides. The one time, you are the hero, and the next the villain. So to speak. It is often a trap with those who have the countenance of knowledge and wisdom to lose others or unknowingly make others feel inferior.

      It is a challenge being with another who doesn’t quite match you when you get by on frequent stimulation, when your brain is always seeking novelty and always on-the-go. Sometimes, you are privileged to discover a like mind, out of the countless people you meet.
      Some other times yet, you find that your main occupation has become the collection of like minds. You seek them, not even for the pleasure of romance, but for the freedom of expressing yourself unrestrained. You finally have found someone you can be more of yourself around.

      You have hit a home run with that about missing oneself! I understand and tend to agree to a good extent with that perspective. Thank you.

      It’s a long journey. But one walks it all the way. All the same.

      It’s been a humbling event having you here.
      And I hope to add you to my collection. That will be assuming I am such a collector of souls. Self-image is a bit of a tickly thing.

      Such pleasure,

  3. 😊. All I could muster.

Even the most absurd thoughts can't ruffle this Enchanted Writer. Spill, please...

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