Dear David Frankel’s “Collateral Beauty”

 

“We’re here to connect. Love, time, death. Now these three things connect every single human being on earth. We long for love, we wish we had more time, and we fear death…”

∞

“Collateral Beauty“,

As a movie, you touched me long before I even watched you, and not because you follow the deep personal tragedy of a grieving man… no, no, no. You primarily made me sad, because I know that deep in my heart, you were a movie I was supposed to create…

As a writer and aspiring Director, I’ve spent years coming up with different parts of a grand puzzle, and with every new addition, the direction becomes clearer and clearer. With that, there are certain themes that have landed on me. Which brings us back to you as a film…

Will Smith – who so brilliantly portrays the grieving man in question – takes pen to paper and writes 3 letters: to Love, to Time, and to Death.

Love.
Time.
Death.

This alone was enough to blow me sideways, because the concept is familiar to me.

I’m an avid letter writer, and these 3 abstracts are already so well acquainted with me, as I’ve written plenty to them…

Love knows just how devoted I’ve been to finding her; my life is a throne beneath her feet. I’m just awaiting her arrival. Patiently waiting, always.

Time knows of my deep, deep fascination with him. Time; the pulse of everything, the core of all that I do and pursue. It is the thread that holds it all together, and simultaneously pulls it apart.

Death… well, I’m not brave enough to call upon the ears and eyes of Death to hear what I have to say… so my subject is slightly different here; I’ve substituted this with Infinity. Yet Infinity primarily questions mortality. Death marks the end and the beginning. It’s the finite and the infinite. It marches to the same beat. Infinitely.

Dear Spielberg’s “The Big Friendly Giant”

“THE BFG” movie,

These words are my own, from my heart flow: I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…

Ok so they aren’t my words exactly, but Natasha Bedingfield’s song served as a suitable (albeit random) surrogate…
Because I love you, you friendly sir.

So, what to say…? Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?— No no, let’s deviate from Shakespeare. Thou shall not possess my pen! – Be gone with you *exit scene*

Dear Kahlil Gibran’s “The Prophet”

“The Prophet”

I feel foolish singing your praise, because there’s nothing I could say that would be right. You render me speechless… In the words of your creator Gibran, I have “seen the Unseen, and been filled.”

All the words that I fail to articulate, could have been read from my face from the moment I first read your words… and that’s truly the mark of greatness.

You’ve already taken me someplace new and stirred something deep within me, and I haven’t even finished hearing what you have to say! I don’t want this book to end but I can’t keep myself from reading it. I fear that in one sitting I will finish you; but as tempted as I am to devour you whole, I want to savour your every word.

You’ve been inscribed from the fountain of genius.

Dear Larissa: Night Vision

Dearest Larissa,

Imagine for one moment, it was all genuine. The words, the smiles, the look, the touch, it all meant something. And when he swept you away it was intentional, with aim. You were sought after, you were looked after. It all meant something.

Just imagine for one moment, it was all real. And you weren’t crazy. And it mattered.

Because whether you’ve lost something that was real, or holding onto something that wasn’t, it was a flame that’s now lost to the dark – but it’s as present as the stars in the sky, the one you always find yourself looking up for. Has the darkness consumed it or does it light up the night? Will your star be a dead fire from the past or a flickering light in the distance? Will you resent its absence or appreciate its existence?

Whichever way you choose to see it, just choose to see it… for if anything, he illuminated your path if for a moment of time. To deny it in any which way – for better or worse – that’s the real loss. You traded in your time for a memory, it’s your duty to make it a good one. Because nothing changes the past other than your perception of it.

Dear Somebody

Growing up I always wanted to write a story for lack of my own.

But my affinity with letters took my creative writing on a different journey; I began writing to people and things and addressing songs and movies. By way of that, I found my muse in words unspoken, and addressed my love for letters as just that: words unspoken.

From a reflective point of ponder to a curious case of questioning, my letters all carry a trail of “Perhaps” – exploring possibilities, uncertainties and suggestions – It’s a form of grey area where nothing is too definite in this form of confessional expression. But starting with such ambiguity leads to a trail of unanswered unknowns; words sent out with nothing to ricochet off. It is a trail I pursue with no result.

For far too long I’ve been letting letters lay; unknown, unopened, unconnected and to no effect, collecting dust like an archaic mosaic. My “Dear Nobody’s” and “Dear Somebody’s” begin and ends with “Dear Yours Sincerely” – But somewhere between the silence I’ve killed the purpose of my pursuit of perhaps; so now I’m turning what was once rhetorical into something more oratorical.

So perhaps it’s about time for my wonders and curiosities to wander from darkness into luminosities; to seek to serve my letters justice by posing my words outwardly, released from my own captivity. Perhaps my stagnant words will search its addressee and find its home. Perhaps I’ll find my answers, perhaps I won’t. – Perhaps’ are a-plenty; It’s time to seize the unspoken and free my anchored blues and frivolous musings.

Looking back, I think I knew that this was always an inevitable matter of time, to finally release what I always considered, just a matter of mine…

∞ T
Diary of a Deluded Heart