to whom it may concern

To whom it may concern

To whom it may concern,

Know that I write to you, not for me, but for all of us that have come to know your splendor, and especially those that haven’t.

We look back on our life as a condensed mass of the exceptionable. If it stands out, it is recalled. We are the abridged sum of our own existence. Just the important bits. The bits that carry weight, lessons, evolution; the fragments of our growth smashed together into a constantly playing time lapse, smoothly pushing us out and rolling us down, womb to grave, in an effortless sequence of whatever we choose to remember.

A flawless dance; or so we would have ourselves believe.

We don’t remember the traffic jams. No one recalls sitting and waiting for the exam to start. No one memorizes the strangers that passed the other way.

Of course there are exceptions to every rule, and they are those of us who are astute enough to tip their hat as you pass by. The small journeys. The sitting waiting. The silence after a prayer. The echo of laughter. The wind in an empty street. The white space that peaks between the lines of a favorite book.

Don’t be mislead, I do not deem myself powerful enough to wield words with such grace as to truly do you justice! As I sit and type, I forget a billion of your faces, and am reduced to merely nodding at generalizations of the vast embodiment of you!

Just this glimpse of remembrance, however, a gift, godsend, through me to you, some token of acknowledgement.
This is to you, whatever you are called, however you are shaped, the magnificent moments that we all forget.

The filler, the gaps, the bridges, the silence, the nights, the rests, the background, the depths of the oceans that we do not see, the further reaches of the sky at night, the black between the stars, the places where the sunlight never touches, the depths of the wild, where man doesn’t wander, the depths of us, that is rarely ever known.

All the little moments in between, that we are accustomed to, that we take for granted, the small wonders that children are powerful enough to see – I salute you.

You are edited out, cut away, and tossed aside.

You are essential, and as such, you are forgotten.

This is for you, the little slivers of time that we have never accounted for.

This is for the cool drinks on summer days, the fires on cold nights, the blankets, the fans, the smiles, the chit chat, the pleasantries, the formalities, the “hi”s and “bye”s, the cracks in the pavement, the day dreams, the reflexive little fidgets, the absent-minded hums.

The infinity of existence that never exists in the memory of the world, and yet always there, always happening.

You are life.

You are truth.

You are known.

A face in a crowd with too little time.

Beard? tick Coffee supply? tick Cool? tick Sonic screwdriver? screwdriver yes, sonic no. "...the most grace is born of the most terribly broken things, for only the smallest of particles allow for a fluid existence."
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This Article Has 3 Comments
  1. Rabeea Noor says:

    Beautifully expressed.

  2. Hamail Khanum says:


  3. This was amazing. The formation of extravagant sentences by linking of ordinary moments and average ignorant little pieces is praise worthy.

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