The Number Eleven
I haven’t written anything in over a month. So, I thought I’d repost this to get me back into the habit of writing. Here goes nothing…
The following is a letter written for an oratory competition back in my college days. Premised on writing a love-letter to a classmate of the same sex. I include it here simply to act as a reminder of what love letters are, or are not. I’m not sure.
Dear Eleven,
The number eleven, it seems more like a number these days. When I count upwards of ten, just as I shift the syllable my heart skips a beat, the number eleven means more to me than I can imagine. That number is what you brave as you command over those hundred yards of freshly cut grass and over your ten other comrades who mean nothing to me but whose sight burns my eyes because they get to walk by your presence and engulf you in their embrace at every joyous moment. That embrace, that feeling, is what I long for.
The first look you gave me with those hazel eyes as you wiped of a smear of sweat as I sat by the corner flag with my friends, that memory is still embedded in my mind, as bright as day. You smiled as you scored a goal for the first time and I smiled at the look on your face with no knowledge of my surroundings. I smiled at that sparkle in your eyes. I smiled at the passion you had for what you loved. That very smile is what I cherish and what I fell in love with.
“You were brilliant yesterday” were the first words I ever uttered in your direction in the most hesitant manner that one could. Those five minutes between classes and a chance to hush my crying stomach was sacrificed to have an inkling of interaction with you. Conversations about the game, about football about you and I made me realize, shifting to a new city, to a new environment, to a new life was all worth it now. My affection toward you was only furthered when you took the time off and showed me around the city, for a lowly town boy like me, that was quite magical and I wouldn’t have felt the same splendor if you weren’t by my side. Even after hours spent exploring the city I hardly felt like I know it at all, rather I felt as if I’ve known you for a lifetime.
My thoughts race as I see you enter class walking in five past the bell, adjusting your tie, tucking in your shirt, fixing your hair down and your charming excuse for coming in late just makes my day. But as I think about you and I, I also think of the circumstances. I know and understand that society today does not condone our behavior. Alas, I hope, these changing times can change social attitudes. We too will stand by this and as the cliché goes, ‘nothing will hold true love back.’
Although you might not share the same feelings for me or do but do not want to act on them because of the resentment of others, I fully understand and will never force you into anything. But if you do have even the minutest of sparks then I humbly put my hand forward as a ‘solitary one.’ A one that is bare and lacks a companion, a one who seeks someone like him who can complete him. If you do feel the same, be that one for me and reach out to my hand. And together we will form the number that you brave, the number that I long for us to be.
Together we will be Eleven.
Forever yours.
