1897. Edmond Rostand writes the play "Cyrano de Bergerac". It is the story of Cyrano, a nobleman with a sharp pen and a big nose who falls in love with the beautiful Roxane. He does not consider himself attractive enough to declare his love for her and feels unable to compete with the handsome Christian, who is also in love with her. In order to help his friend, Cyrano proposes to write love letters to Roxane in Christian's name. Thanks to his writing skills and a profound comprehension of love's nuances, the letters leave an indelible mark on the heart of Roxane, who falls in love with Christian.
2013. I'm a 15-year-old who, like many teenagers my age, enjoys spending time on Omegle and Chatroulette. One of my favorite features is the poetry hashtag, which allows me to sift through various conversations and interactions with strangers. It's a constant search for that elusive connection, hoping to encounter someone who embodies the spirit of Cyrano de Bergerac. Admittedly, these quests for meaningful discussions were quite arduous and time-consuming. However, when I stumbled upon rare gems, it felt like finding a precious needle in a vast haystack.
On a lucky evening, I met Hytham, a 50 years old man who claimed to be a poet. Suspicious, I call him a liar. After all, the anonymous online existence is only reserved for writers who failed or who seek to hide their physical appearance. Challenged by my affront, Hytham sent over 300 pages of poetry to my email address, firstname.lastname@example.org.
In the email, Hytham writes:
Hi, or rather, hello...
As promised, here are some of my love letters. Feel free to read them when you find the time to soak up my pain, joy, and passion.
I am a happier person after meeting you,
Filled with curiosity, I embarked upon the journey within his letters. They unfolded before me like a captivating explosion of profound love and untamed desire, all dedicated to the woman who had captured Hytham's heart.
On hot summer days, and in the extreme bleeding of the heat, my longing for you under the vault of heaven is like drowning in a sea of light, my beautiful lover, or feeling drowsy outside the darkness, bitten by my desire to never wake up from this dream.
I want to wake up one day drowned in your scent that I know would awaken that soul-dwelling thirst in me, and the hunger to share my body with yours, steadied; moving between the clouds with her feet untied, and a left eyebrow raised in static, satisfied ecstasy.
You paint the sun with the tone of your voice, demanding a defrayal in the postponement of our dream that acts as a messenger for a titanic evening; an evening we will spend listening to our narcotic and percussive poetry in the silence that mandates itself in the sculpted fidelity of your feet.
My voice flees humiliation, full of exclamations. I laugh at the solitude kneaded into our screens and talking images; in this arid and broken urban topography missing like a grave without you, between the face of the door of day and night that will lead me to your sanatorium.
I could not count the elegies of shadows and offerings I extend to your absence, my priceless pearl, nor the masked testimonies and cross-questions of the curse of this space on both sides of the day - a day spent without you; another night spent in sin away from you.
I love in you your neglected past and care about your future, and what I write (and still haven't written), I want you to realize that this man in me is realistic but dreamy and that you rejoice in me instead of grieving. You are the reason I am a good writer. I hope not to make a career of it, though, and I don't know when my writing should end or expire.
I love you so much, my only friend.
2018. The movie Her by Spike Jones is released in theaters. Naturally, I am under the spell. I not only admire the concept and execution of a film about the possibility of loving without seeing or touching, but I am also paralyzed with joy in the first scene of the film. Sitting in his chair, the main character, Theodore, begins to write a love poem for a client. Indeed, his profession is not the most common: Theodore writes love letters for those who cannot :
To my Chris, I thought about how I could tell you how much you mean to me. I remember the moment I started to fall in love with you like it was last night. Lying naked next to you in that small apartment, I suddenly realized that I was part of something bigger, just like our parents, and our parent's parents. Before that, I was living my life as if I knew everything, and suddenly a bright light hit me and woke me up. That light was you. I can't believe it's been 50 years since you married me. And still today, every day, you make me feel like the girl I was when you turned on the light and woke me up for the first time and we started this adventure together. Happy birthday, my love and my friend to the end.
2021. I just graduated from art school and I haven’t learned much except to love, cope, and write. After more than 10 years of poetic quests and essays, I decided to challenge fiction to turn it into reality. I log in to the gig economy and start proposing romantic and poetic writing services. Inspired by the anonymous figure of Cyrano, and especially wishing to protect my identity as a young artist in search of fame, I use my real name but do not offer a real image of my face. Instead, I use the portrait of an individual with masculine characteristics, frozen in time like a painting. He gives me the opportunity to gain the trust of men who would not believe that a poet could be a woman. My new career is finally launched. I am fiction turned into reality, waiting for my first commission. A few months later, Yhamouch ordered 10 poems for $100. I could not believe it, but I poured my heart and soul into this work, delivering poems that she ended up being really satisfied with.
5 stars. It’s quality work bb.