Jasmine

Happy birthday to my favourite boy. Do you know that it is around 20 degrees today, and the sun is out? The sun is paying homage to you. And I am getting a sudden urge to write. It is all your fault, you know, Mr Folklore. Will you come back, now? Has the thrill expired?

I have recently read Keats's "Isabella; or The Pot of Basil" and find it so terribly beautiful. I bet you would like it very much too, dear friend.

We accept the love we think we deserve?

jasminemiry@outlook.com if you need a different place. I have returned here, too. I still have Finch. I have a new Letterboxd, @jasminemiry too. I have everything. I would be willing to give you my heart and soul if it meant your return.

I recently watched the Perks of Being a Wallflower and found it very interesting because of the focus on Charlie's character. I haven't seen a teacher and student presented in such an academic yet close way, almost like a friendship. It was very heartfelt and really made me focus on development through the courage and kindness of someone else, much like you and I, dear light. Everything I do makes me think of you, and all I wish is that you'd come back, not even with an apology, just as you are. Come as you are, don't worry about fixing anything, and just return to how we were. I can't for the life of me imagine why you've left. I don't understand and I never will and I really think it'll tear me apart one day because there is no reason for me to understand. I had thought of exams, maybe stress, family stuff, something else? Even all of these reasons put together would not explain your distance from me. So that must mean I have done something, surely? I can't figure out what it is, as much as I wish you'd tell me. The last thing you said was so warm and light, as you always are, so why would you leave so suddenly? I cannot understand. I wish you'd have stayed and helped me through this year, which is already testifying its difficulties, but I can't bring you back, though I wish I could. I wish somebody could understand how I feel but I feel so lonely that I don't think anyone ever will. This is silly, I know. I am so dramatic, but I just miss you.

If you ever forget, my email is jasminehome28@gmail.com. Mr Folklore, you have no idea the devastation you've invoked in me since I lost you. Remember that you have kept me waiting now, so waiting I will forever be.

I was grounded / While you filled the skies / I was dumbfounded by truth / You cut through lies / I saw the rain dirty valley / You saw Brigadoon / I saw the crescent / You saw the whole of the moon

Friendships are more significant than relationships. I wish I could summon you like with a Deluminator. I am trying everything I can, you know. I don't know what compelled you to push to the side so suddenly, rather harshly, I would say. It does not do our friendship justice. Selfishly, I would say you must come hack and give me a proper explanation, a brave one, which I know you are capable of. Why not provide it? Why involve loneliness?
          
          You have said yourself that our friendship being cut off would be too final. A week of not speaking made you believe it was over forever, and you asked for a goodbye to give you rest. Why not give me the same rest? Why leave me waiting?

I watched Portrait Of A Lady On Fire a few days ago and it was so very well done. The lighting and sound was all purposeful, created well for the explicit understanding of the relationship between Héloïse and Marianne. There was a kind of romantic understanding that seemed to be present from their very first interaction. 
          
          It is always tragic when women have to marry for status and stability rather than for love. That is what my English Literature coursework is about — sacrificing mutual understanding for seeming comfort (although my professor says that comfort is the wrong word; I disagree). Seeing Héloïse with a daughter at the end brings you to the same shock that Marianne seems to feel when she looks at the painting, even a little bit of betrayal. It is really, really striking. But when we see the book she is holding, the page she keeps open, we also recognise that she /remembers/. She keeps Marianne's memory awake, through this book, the sketch she had done. For both, this seems to be enough. No need for the romance, it seems to say, the touches, the love, the passion. The memory is the only thing that matters. The care, that is, that they have mutually despite being separated.
          
          I don't know quite yet if memory is enough. Isn't experience also what matters? Do you think we can simply go on, tortured by the possibility of love without true recognition of it? Of course, we cannot blame Héloïse, not really — we must look at her marriage form a class-conscious perspective (that is the only way for her to have any place in society, as a woman). Yet, in a more contemporary light, a romance or even a friendship cannot be sacrificed so easily. Especially not one that has so distinct an understanding between two people, almost like the more reductionistic word, "soulmates".